Fight or Flight
by PumpkinSnitch
Summary: Gibbs has been hunting them for years, and his team didn't know. But by the time the younger agents find out about the creatures, it's too late for one agent in particular...isn't it?
1. Warnings and the Prologue

**Ok guys, this one's going to require some explaining. I know, I know, I just started a fic (I'm not Going to Apologize) and I've yet to update it. That one's been out on hiatus temporarily, until this one is well under way.  
I've been throwing around concepts for this story for years, and never thought to put it in a fanfic until this week. The original story had an original cast, but I thought it would be easier to write and develop with familiar characters in the form of a fanfic.**

**Now, some warnings...**

**1.) It's mainly a supernatural fic. If that's not your cup of tea, I totally understand. In that case, run far away because this is not for you and you probably won't enjoy it.**

**2.) updates could be months apart- the only reason I am beginning to write it now is because I'm on spring break, but once school starts again, I've got to work like mad to bring up my GPA. That means chapters will be few and far between until summer.**

**3.) there are some oc's**

**4.) potential character death, violence, in later chapters**

***I love and appreciate all my readers. If you've got a problem with my story, please feel free to leave constructive criticism as a review.**

**Happy Reading!**

...

He could run much faster than most men his age, much faster than his agents would have suspected. In his line of work, it was essential.

The only up-side to this situation that Gibbs could think of was, "_thank god it's not snowing_."

If it had been winter, or even the later stages of fall, the job would have been twice as difficult- and maybe even twice as dangerous. But spring had been considerate this year, and came early. It made it easier to hunt.  
Speaking of, the object of Gibbs' chase was getting away. If they reached a more populated area, it would be impossible to fire at the creature in front of civilians, and he would get away for good, endangering the lives of everyone in Washington D.C.

The creature turned the corner, and Gibbs tried to pick up his pace, closing in on it. He pulled his gun out of the holster at his side and stopped running as he too turned into a dark alley between two buildings. It was practically pitch, and the silver-haired agent frowned deeper.  
A novice hunter would have gone through the alley, but Jethro was better than that. He knew the tricks that these bastards employed to capture humans, and he wasn't fooled. It was too dangerous to pursue the monster here-his eyesight was bad enough in daylight, and the bastard could see in the dark.

The pounding in his heart slowed as he listened. Anger rose in his chest- he lost the damn thing! But a small clatter sounded above his head, as the dark figure scaled the fire escape to the roof one of the buildings. Turning his gun and his eyes upward, he could see it scrambling to get away. Practically without aim, Gibbs fired three expert shots into its back.

The creature fell with a crash at Gibbs' feet, dead. Its vibrant eyes stared up at nothing...it looked harmless when it wasn't scaling buildings or destroying human lives. With a huff, Leroy Jethro Gibbs put away his gun and pulled out his cell phone. The number he needed was on speed dial, and the woman who answered did so on the first ring.

"Jethro?"

"I got him," Gibbs said without greeting, looking down at his kill.

"Excellent. We'll have someone pick up the body. Good work."

With a smile, he hung up. Without sparing another glance at the monster at his feet, he turned to find his car. He still had a few hours to sleep before he had to be at NCIS in the morning.


	2. Chapter 1

Tony entered the bullpen with a cheery smile. "Here you are, m'lady," he said, handing a coffee to Ziva, then one to McGee.

"Thanks, Tony," Tim said in surprise. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion!" Tony said. "Can't a guy get his teammates coffee?"

"You are in an excellent mood today, Tony," Ziva said. "Unusually so for a Monday."

"I had an excellent weekend, Ziva," Tony said. "Am I ever one to squander a weekend off?"

Before Ziva or Tim could answer, Gibbs entered the bullpen, passing all three of his agents as he did so, and causing all three agents to stare at the circles under his eyes in shock.

"What?" he asked as they continued to stare. Tim and Ziva scattered to their desks in reply, leaving DiNozzo to answer.

"You ok, Boss?" Tony asked. Gibbs turned to look at his oldest agent, and Tony fell silent.

"You look tired, Gibbs," Ziva finished, somewhat courageously. But instead of getting mad, their boss nodded. "I'm fine, Ziva," he assured her, taking a swig of his coffee. It was extra strength (more so than usual, not that he would ever admit that) to hide the fact that he was somewhat run down. The escapades of the night before had stronger effects than he had expected, and he needed sleep.

"Director's office," the fearless leader announced to his agents.

"We have a case, Boss?" Tim asked, as they climbed the stairs behind the bullpen.

"Apparently," he responded, entering Vance's office without knocking, as usual.

...

"Gibbs," the director greeted, nodding to the other agents. "I have a case for you."

Tim and Ziva listened intently, while Gibbs and Tony raised their eyebrows in question. Normally, when Vance presented a case to them in his office, it was an important one.

The director picked up a remote and clicked it toward his TV. Several pictures of a dead marine flashed onto the screen.

"This is First Sergeant Steve Miller. He was found dead yesterday evening by a passerby walking her dog."

The three younger agents frowned in disgust. The First Sergeant was torn up terribly, with odd puncture wounds on his chest. Some areas of his legs and arms seemed crushed, as well as his skull. Blood was everywhere, but the worst part was the marine's pallor: his skin was a sickly gray, as if he had been killed by disease and not by some attacker. Even Ziva, who stayed composed at the worst of blood baths, felt slightly ill looking at the picture. No one should be that shade of gray.

Gibbs, however, remained stone-faced as he studied the picture. He looked at Vance, who stared pointedly back at him. They knew what this was, though the young investigators did not.

"Where was he found?" Tim asked, looking at the director.

"Volare Notte, Italy," Leon said, earning blank stares from his agents, and a skin-melting glare from their team leader. "I'm sure you know there's a small naval station there. It's only a few miles away from Venice."

"And you want us to go there?" Tony asked incredulously.

Vance nodded. "There is only one agent in Volare Notte right now, and he has to be in Hawaii in three days for his new position. So I told him I would send a team out immediately."

Gibbs continued to glare, but Leon ignored him. DiNozzo, McGee and Ziva all looked slightly skeptical. However, Tony shrugged. "I haven't been to Italy in forever."

"I've never been at all," Tim admitted. Tony and Ziva looked at him in amazement.

"It is a beautiful country, McGee," Ziva said. "You'll love it."

"Yeah," Tony agreed eagerly. "Maybe if we solve the case early we can-"

"Ah-hem," the director cleared his throat to get their attention. "So I take it you all will go. I'll let the agent there know. Go home and prepare to leave- your flight departs at 8:00. Pack light, but remember that you'll most likely be there a week, maybe longer."

Tim, Ziva and Tony all filed out of the director's office, but Gibbs stayed behind to discuss the case with Vance. Before Leon could say anything, his office door was closed to outside listeners, and Gibbs was right on the other side of his desk, an angry look on his face.

"No, Leon."

"Gibbs-"

"They're not going."

"They seemed pretty eager to go."

Jethro turned and paced the office. "Is there nobody in the entire country of Italy that can handle this case?"

"There is no NCIS agent in the entire country of Italy that can handle this case," Vance retorted. "The only hunters in that area right now are FBI, CIA, or civilians. And since it was a marine death, it is in our jurisdiction."

It was clear that this wasn't good enough for Gibbs, and the director sighed. "Look, you and I both know who is probably the cause of this. And you're the most qualified to deal with him. Besides, it could just be a regular murder, in which case we'll need a team to investigate anyway."

Jethro's jaw unclenched, and he nodded. Secretly, he was somewhat excited to have this case. But he sure as hell wasn't going to drag his team into this if he could avoid it.

"You gonna tell them?" Vance asked, reading his agent's mind.

"I don't know Leon. We don't even know what it is."

"What if we're right? What if it is-"

"Then I'll tell them."

The director heard the venom in his voice, and regarded his best agent for a moment. "You don't want them to know, do you?"

"Just trying to keep them safe."

"Ignorance of the truth won't keep them safe, Gibbs."

Ignoring the look that his statement earned him, Director Vance went back to sorting the papers on his desk. As Gibbs turned and went to open the door, he added, "That being said...be careful, Jethro."

A small smirk played on the corners of the team leader's mouth. "Always am, Leon."

...

His agents were already packing up their belongings and preparing their desks for a long absence by the time Gibbs reached the bullpen.

"Go home," he ordered. "Get some rest. Pack light, be back here by 6:30."

"Yes, Boss," Tony said, as he and Ziva strolled to the elevator. Gibbs looked up to notice his youngest agent had stayed behind, hovering between the team leader's desk and his own.

"Problem, McGee?" Gibbs asked, not unkindly. Tim looked genuinely concerned. And in reality, Gibbs knew the feeling. His gut was screaming at him that this case was a bad idea, but he pushed the feelings away as McGee spoke.

"Well it's just that..." Tim began, unsure of what to say. He was curious, but didn't want it to seem like he was questioning his boss or the director's decisions. "Why aren't NCIS agents in Italy handling the case? Why us?"

Gibbs looked at his agent for a moment. His agents- his kids- meant the world to him, and he wasn't all that excited to drag them into a case with a potentially lethal killer. Yes, they had faced psychopaths and murderers before, but they always knew what they were facing. They were trained for that; they were prepared. He wanted to tell them what they might be facing. Yet..he really didn't want to drag them into the miserable world he called his second job.

"Guess they need a team from D.C. to show them how it's done," he said. Tim smiled at his reply.

"Guess so. See you later, Boss."

Jethro nodded at his agent as he too exited the bullpen. Then, he dialed a number on his desk phone.

"Autopsy," Ducky's voice picked up.

"Hey, Duck."

"Jethro! Do we have a case?"

"Yeah, in Italy."

"Italy? Oh my. Why don't NCIS agents in..." Ducky understood the silence, even over the phone. "...oh. Is this what I think it is, Jethro?"

"Not sure yet, Duck. Looks like it."

"Ah. Then I take it you'd like me to accompany your team for more than just my medical expertise?"

"Something like that," Gibbs grinned into the phone.

"Fascinating. I haven't dealt with a case like this one in years."

"I know."

"If you don't mind, I'd like Mr. Palmer to stay behind. For safety's sake."

Gibbs frowned, wishing he could say the same for his agents. But he needed his team with him, especially if this case turned out to be just an average murder. Ducky continued, unawares.

"Have you explained the situation to Anthony, Ziva, and Timothy?"

"Not really."

Ducky paused, then continued gently. "Jethro, they should know what they are going to be investigating-"

"I'll tell them if I have to, Duck," Gibbs said. The ME sighed. "I suppose I understand. What time should I be ready to leave?"

"6:30"

"I'll see you then."

Ducky hung up the phone just as Palmer entered via the sliding doors.

"Mister Palmer, I have some news for you."

Jimmy's eyes widened, and he began to stutter. "If this has something to do with the Petri dish mixup, I told Abby that-"

"No no Mr. Palmer, nothing like that," Doctor Mallard chuckled in spite of himself. "Our team has been assigned a case in Italy for the next week or so."

Jimmy frowned. His anniversary was coming up in the next week, and he didn't think Breena would appreciate his absence. "Are we all going?"

"Well," Ducky continued. "I though I might go alone. I don't mean to send the wrong message, I'd like you to accompany me, but we need an ME to stay here, and I can't get a replacement from Metro any time soon."

Jimmy brightened. "I don't mind staying, Doctor. My anniversary is coming up."

"Excellent," Ducky smiled as he stood and began packing his things. "Then I'll leave you in charge. You will have to respond to any and all cases in my absence, mind you."

Palmer frowned once again. "Me?"

"Don't worry, Jimmy," Ducky said as he placed his hat on his head. "I have faith in you. And besides, I've found that probationary agents are just as afraid of us as they are their team leaders."

The autopsy gremlin brightened. "Thank you, Doctor Mallard. Have a nice trip."

"Thank you, Mister Palmer, I will," the older man said as the sliding doors closed behind him.

...

Tim had just finished zipping up his suitcase when the phone rang. He picked it up, noting the name on caller ID. "Hey Abby, I was just about to call you."

"Hey, Tim. Vance just told me about Italy."

"Are you coming with us?" McGee asked eagerly.

"No, I gotta stay here and run evidence for all the other cases," Abby replied sadly. "But I'm going to miss you all."

"It's only for a week or so, Abs."

"I know, but every time you all go on a trip, something bad happens!"

Tim chuckled, touched that Abby was worried about him. "I'll be fine. We all will be."

"Good. Now, do you need me to watch Jethro while you're gone?"

McGee smiled at his dog, who was sitting obediently at his feet, waiting to be fed. "That's exactly why I was about to call you. You don't mind watching him for a few days?"

"Seriously?"

"That's what I thought. I'll drop him off on my way back to the Navy Yard."

"Ok, see you soon!"

Tim hung up and reached down to pet his dog, who affectionately leaned into the touch. "You're gonna be staying at Abby's for a couple days," he said, to which Jethro perked up his ears. He knew exactly what that meant, and he loved visiting Abby. He licked his owner's face, and Tim laughed, straightening up. "I thought so. Come on, boy. Let's get your leash."


	3. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone! A special thanks is in order to everyone who has read and reviewed. The chapters are going to get more exciting after this one, I promise. And to those who are asking what Gibbs hunts- you'll soon find out! **

The team arrived at their destination around noon, alighting from the plane and stepping into the gorgeous, breezy weather.

"Volare Notte," Tony said with a grin, grabbing his bag and looking around. "I like it."

The little air strip wasn't far from the water; in fact, not much of the city was far from water. Boats of various sizes drifted around, some belonging to local fishermen, some belonging to the extremely wealthy members of the community. The city started out as a fisherman's village, but as Venice became more popular during the Italian Gothic and Renaissance periods, some of the wealthy built residences in Volare Notte where there was more room.

"It is lovely," Ziva agreed as she and McGee joined their friend.

"What does the name mean? Volare Notte? Doesn't notte mean night?" Tim asked.

"Yes, and volare is the verb meaning 'to fly'," Ziva said.

"To fly at night," Ducky said, glancing at Gibbs.

A tall young man approached them with a smile. "Are you guys the major case response team from DC?" he asked, shaking everyone's hands. "I'm Agent Mallory. Welcome to Volare Notte!"

He led them to a waiting car, which took them to the naval station. "Thank you all for coming. I'm really glad of the help."

"How far along are you on the case?" Tony asked.

"Not far at all, I'm afraid. I questioned the woman who found First Sergeant Miller, but she wasn't much help."

"Did you know Miller personally?"

"I'd met him a couple of times, but no, I never knew him. He seemed nice enough, though."

When they pulled up to the small base, Mallory took them to a cleared-out office that was empty besides a desk, a small table, a few chairs and a phone. "This was mine, but I've already cleaned it out, so it's yours for as long as you need it."

Turning to Ducky, he smiled. "Our autopsy room isn't nearly as big as the one at the Navy Yard, Doctor Mallard."

"As long as I have a table to work on, I'll be happy," the ME assured the agent. "You know, once when I was working in..." his voice died out as he and Mallory walked towards the autopsy room together, leaving the MCRT to their small cubicle.

"So, do we flip for the desk, or...?" Tony began with a chuckle, but trailed off when Gibbs cocked an eyebrow at him. "Right. The desk is your, Boss."

Tim was content to sit at the smaller table with his laptop, already looking up information on First Sergeant Miller.

"So, where do we begin?" Ziva asked.

"We should probably go see the crime scene," Tony said. Gibbs nodded. Although they had the disadvantage of waiting over 24 hours since the crime occurred, it hadn't rained, and it was likely that no one had messed with any potential evidence.

In only a half an hour, the four were at the crime scene: an opening to a dark alley branching off from the main road.

"I read that most of Volare Notte had a labyrinth of alleyways winding in between the houses and buildings," Tim informed as he got a photograph of the scene. "Easy for criminals to move around."

The exact spot where Miller had been found still had a little bit of dried blood on the cobblestones. Ziva stepped around it and examined the alley. An strong but simple arch connected the two buildings that made up the alley walls. It would be a haunting and beautiful place by night.

"Look at this," McGee said, holding up a baseball bat that was hidden behind some trash. "It could be the blunt force object that caused all those...injuries in Miller's limbs."

Ziva took it from him and held it up so that he could take a picture of it. "He was beaten to death?" she suggested.

"Well, Miller didn't have a phone, watch, or wallet on him," DiNozzo put in. "Looks like a mugging gone wrong," he finished, snapping a pic of the blood still slightly stained onto the pavement.

"But wasn't he shot or something? There were those holes in his chest...Why a baseball bat and a gun? You think there might've been two muggers?" Tim asked.

"It makes sense," Ziva said, wrapping the bat for evidence.

Gibbs scanned the darker corners of the alley, looking for any sign that a non-human being had recently been on the premises. It was convenient, finding the bat, having a weapon as evidence, but it was a little too easy...given the state of the victim. This wouldn't be the first time that a murder scene was staged to _look_ human-made.

"We'll find out if the bat was a part of it when Ducky finishes the autopsy," Tony said, looking up from his camera. "I think I've gotten all the photos we need, Boss."

"We've searched the place top to bottom, Gibbs," Ziva said. "We have found all the evidence here."

The team leader straightened, turning to look back at his agents. "Log the evidence and go over prints on the bat. Look up Miller's record, see if he could've made any enemies in Valero Notte." He noted the tired looks on his kids' faces. "And get some coffee."

About an hour later, Gibbs entered the little autopsy suite, finding Ducky poring over the wounds in Sergeant Millers's chest.

"What've ya got, Duck?"

"Hello, I was just about to call you."

Gibbs' chest tightened in apprehension. Ducky's 'diagnosis' would determine the path of the case, and potentially the lives of his agents.

"Jethro," Ducky began, somewhat disappointed and somewhat relieved. "This destruction was caused by a human." He gestured to the collapsed parts of the poor marine's legs, arms, and head. "See?" He picked up the bat and held them next to the breaks. "These are a perfect fit. I've seen many identical injuries in past cases."

The medical examiner then touched the odd puncture marks on the man's chest. "These weren't made by hands or teeth. They're bullets. Odd ones, definitely, but still bullets. I actually found one..." Ducky showed Gibbs the fragments he found in the man's lungs and heart. "These are meant to do damage, Jethro. Bullets like these would kill their victim almost instantly."

Gibbs shook his head slightly. "A human didn't do this, Duck."

"I realize what it looks like, Jethro, but honestly, the facts speak for themselves. I know you don't believe in coincidences, but this very well might be one big coincidence."

"What about his color?"

"Ah," Ducky said, turning to some notes on the side of the table. "I had Timothy run tox screens over First Sergeant Miller's blood. He had heavy traces of phenytoin in his system."

"Drugs?" Gibbs said aloud. There was no possible way...

"Yes, it's actually well known that misuse of phenytoin causes skin discoloration. It's meant to treat seizures, but Miller didn't have a history of them. It was most likely used for recreational purposes. Or they were slipped to him without his knowledge."

"So we're positive that a human being caused this?"

"I can say so with absolute certainty."

Gibbs almost laughed in relief. So his team didn't have to go after a monster. (A monster of the inhuman sort, anyway.) They could wrap this case up in a day or two, and he wouldn't have to tell them about the bastards he hunted. Tim wouldn't lose sleep at night, Tony wouldn't question his life, and Ziva's trust wouldn't be set back by years as the world around them remained secure.

"Jethro," Ducky began again. "I understand that this means you aren't required to tell them, but I think you should all the same. It does not mean that they have to become hunters and sacrifice their lives to the work, but knowing how to protect themselves could be vital...especially if you insist on continuing to hunt...don't look at me like that, I know you hunt in your spare time...you make many enemies that way, Jethro, and the people closest to you are in danger as well."

Ducky was the only living person who was entirely immune to the Gibbs-glare, so the team leader didn't even attempt it. Instead, he sighed and rubbed his hand along the back of his neck.

"I'll tell them after we catch the bastard who did this," he said, turning and leaving his friend with the victim.

Ducky sighed and looked at the body before him. "That did not go well, Mr. Miller, but I do think it's for the best. Don't you?"

...

"Boss," Tony started as the older man entered their office. "Any news on what killed Miller?"

"Looks like a mugging," Gibbs said, dropping the medical file onto the desk for them to read. "Ducky says his skin color has to do with drug overdose."

"Miller was a user?" Tim asked, reading through the file.

"Or it was given to him the night of his death," Ziva said.

"Did we get any fingerprint IDs on the bat?"

McGee turned to his computer, and answered Tony's question with a few key clicks. Turning the computer towards his team, Tim shook his head, "Yes and no. An Ian Shallow has his prints on it, but he's temporarily stationed in Berlin right now. I double checked, he apparently left it here three weeks ago and asked that it be kept safe until he returns."

"Well someone didn't listen to him," DiNozzo said grimly, reviewing the photos of Sergeant Miller. "It was definitely not taken care of."

Just then, Ziva's cell phone rang, and she stepped outside to take the call.

"What about the bullets?" Gibbs asked.

"They're pretty unique," Tony said. "Not practical for hunting, or even for gun-fighting because they're only compatible for one type of gun. And I checked, there's no gun merchant in the area that sells them."

"But they do a hell of a lot of damage," Tim said. "The bullets, I mean. They can tear straight through a person. If you get hit by one of these in a vital place, you're not going to last long."

Gibbs' eyebrows knitted. "So we've got nothing."

"Not nothing," Ziva said, reentering. "A friend of mine from the Valero Notte police just informed me that several muggings have happened in the area that Miller was found. No one has been killed until now, though."

"That was my theory!" DiNozzo said. "They took his wallet and he didn't have a phone or a watch. Did I not say this was a mugging gone wrong?"

"So what do we do?" Tim said, turning to Gibbs. "Watch the area until there's another mugging?"

McGee hadn't been serious, but it gave DiNozzo an idea.

"Why don't we?" he said. "We watch the area tonight, and as they go to mug someone, we catch them and bring them in for questioning."

Jethro had to admit, it sounded easy enough. "Tony, go see if we can get a van for tonight. Ziva, ask your friend what street the muggings are most common on. McGee, get a map of the city, especially of the street Ziva finds. I want back alleys mapped out as well."

"On it, Boss," the agents chimed as they went about their duties.

A couple hours later, the sun was on the verge of setting, and the agents were loading up the van DiNozzo had secured for them. Ducky was notified of their plans, and was already back at their hotel enjoying a genuine Italian meal. Everything was ready to leave, and the agents climbed in the car, prepared to face the night.

Gibbs watched them, and guilt filled his thoughts. He should have told them the truth already, instead of waiting until they were finished with the case. He fought with himself, arguing that such a bombshell would just distract them from their duties. _No_, he decided, _it's better to wait_.

...

McGee hesitated, a nagging feeling in his chest. Something was wrong, something was _**wrong**_. But what? He had no idea. A pressure was building on his ribs and his spine in the form of anxiety.

It was his gut, telling him to think twice. To talk to Gibbs.

Tim almost did voice his worries to his Boss, coming up to him as they were the last ones in the van. Tony and Ziva were already seated and buckled in, and since they were out of earshot, the youngest agent felt that this was his chance to say something without embarrassing himself.

"Boss?" he asked as he approached Gibbs. The team leader turned to his youngest. Tim had already opened his mouth to speak when he noticed the dark circles under his boss' eyes again. Gibbs was a surrogate father to all of his agents, even McGee, and Tim realized that the man was too tired, too stressed to worry about one of his agents getting the jitters.

"Yeah, McGee?" Gibbs asked, startling Tim out of his reverie. The young agent sighed.

"Nothing. Sorry, Boss."

What was he getting all worked up for? Just one stakeout. They just had to catch the guy, then it was over, and he could play tourist with Tony and Ziva for a few days. They had faced much bigger dangers before. There was absolutely nothing to worry about.

So why was his heart beating so fast?


	4. Chapter 3

**Sorry everyone, I had to repost this chapter because there was a problem with it.**

It was long past sunset before they could put their plan in action. According to Ziva's informant with the police, the muggings happened most often in the exact spot where Sergeant Miller had been found. So, that's where they were. Gibbs waited down the block with the van while Ziva hid in the darkness of the winding alley, gun ready. McGee waited even further in the labyrinth, in case the muggers got scared off and decided to run.

That left DiNozzo, who had strategically placed himself down the street, dressed in the nicest clothes he had, and wearing Tim's watch for all to see.

"I don't see why you have to use my watch to get mugged," McGee had muttered, handing it over.

"I forgot mine at the hotel," Tony defended himself. "This one is awesome, McGee. You're gonna have to tell me where you got it."

"How about we do this after we catch the guy," Gibbs had ordered, snapping everyone back into focus.

Ziva watched two young men pass her, and whispered into her hand-held radio. "Two men, both look very suspicious, moving in the direction of the street."

Apparently, the back streets of Valero Notte were used quite commonly, especially by locals to escape the tourist crowds. Several people had already walked past Ziva. But now that the populated sidewalks on the main road were hardly crowded, what with most sightseers at their hotels, Tony would be more vulnerable to robbers.

"Alright," DiNozzo said into his radio as he began to stroll down the sidewalk. Ziva watched as the two men eyed him eagerly. Once he was at the mouth of the alley, they came into his view.

"Give me your wallet," one of the men snapped at Tony, who decided to play dumb.

"What?"

"You heard him," the second one said, brandishing a handgun. "Your wallet. And your watch."

"How about you drop the weapon," Ziva said, stepping into sight and aiming her gun at them. "Now!"

The two men looked at each other in panic, then turned and ran into the shadows, one of them taking a left, the other a right.

Tony cursed as he dashed after one, Ziva close on his heels.

"McGee, there are two of them. We are going after one. The other one is heading in your direction," she said, speaking into her handheld radio.

"I'm on it," Tim radioed back, moving into position. He could hear the sound of footsteps running in his direction.

The mugger turned the corner and ran straight into Tim, who braced himself against the impact. The criminal tried to get away by running around the agent and sprinting into the darkness of the alley once again, but McGee knew better than that.

"I don't think so," he said, grabbing the mugger from behind. However, the man was much larger and stronger, and wrenched himself out of Tim's grasp. Without blinking an eye, the man aimed his gun and fired twice at McGee, his gun on a silencer.

Contrary to popular belief, a silencer does not make a gun completely silent. Usually there is still an audible click, and the echo (almost a shadow) of a gunshot. Tony or Ziva should have been able to hear it as the sound resounded against the walls of the alleyway. But the silencer, combined with the noise of traffic and nightlife moving steadily along the road, smothered any sound they might have heard...and leaving McGee without help.

The bullets hit him at close range, dragging ice and fire through his shoulder and his collarbone. Two bullets, two seconds.

Tim hit the ground with a gasp, unable to breathe. His attacker turned and ran, leaving him to die.

The NCIS agent felt so heavy. The blood leaving his chest pooled around him, soaking his shirt and getting in his hair. So this was it- he was going to die, alone, in some back street in a foreign country without even his team...

His team! Tim had forgotten about the radio. With a shaking hand, he pulled it off of his belt and held it to his face. Pressing the button as hard as he could in his weakening state, he choked out a single "help" before dropping it to his side.

Gibbs didn't hear Tim's quiet plea, but he saw as one of the muggers dodged out of the mouth of the alley and down the street. The oldest agent jumped in the van, put it in gear and raced after him. As the criminal was about to run across a cross-walk, Gibbs jerked the car in his path. Without the ability to stop himself in time, the man slammed into the door of the van and fell on his back with a groan, his gun clattering away. Jethro jumped out of the car and cuffed their suspect, throwing him into the back seat without a word.

The second mugger led DiNozzo and Ziva far away from McGee, in the opposite direction. Ziva heard the crackle of the walkie-talkie before Tony did, and put hers to her ear as she ran.

"McGee?" she asked, before hearing a strangled "help." Ziva skidded to a stop; Tony noticed and did the same.

"McGee? Tim?" Ziva called over the radio, but received no answer. Her eyes went wide, and she turned to DiNozzo. "McGee needs help."

Just as McGee let go of the radio, he heard a shocked "oh my god," from a voice he didn't recognize, but he was too tired to care. It wasn't until someone put their hand on his shoulder wound that he gasped again in pain, his eyes shooting open and his body trying to twist away from the cause of the discomfort

"Woah, easy there son," a kind male voice said. "I'm trying to keep your shoulder from bleeding- oh lord, you're hit in the chest too. Who did this to you? No no, you need to keep your eyes open."

Through a stupor of blood loss and pain, Tim's eyes found his savior's, and he was struck dumb in amazement. The man's eyes were a vibrant, radiating caramel brown, the color of light shining through whiskey; they were inhuman. But they were not the greatest shock of the night, because large, glistening wings extended out from the stranger's back.

The strange being noticed Tim staring, and smiled. "Yeah, that ought to keep you awake," he commented. Before he could speak again, he noticed a light shining from underneath Tim's chest, and his eyes widened in shock.

"You..." he began, but McGee couldn't hear him. A fiery agony shot out from his chest and engulfed him, causing the young man to cry out.

"We need to get you somewhere safe," the man said with a frown, and looked around him. "Guess I'm going to have to carry you," he muttered, more to himself than to McGee. As he was about to pick him up, Tony and Ziva came around the corner, guns drawn, ready to help their friend. What they saw frightened them to no measurable extent. A sophisticated, winged man stood over McGee, who lay on the ground writhing in pain. Blood was everywhere, notably on the creature's hands. The moonlight thrown across the scene did nothing but add a touch of terror.

"What the hell?" Tony whispered in horror.

The creature looked at them with narrowed eyes, misinterpreting their intent. He thought that these two newcomers were here to attack; they must have been with whoever had shot this young man.

Although the creature didn't know the victim on the ground, he knew he couldn't leave him there to defend himself- especially since the young man's chest was glowing, a sign that only the winged man understood. No, he was going to save himself and this stranger.

The odd being stretched out his wings to their full span and hissed at them ferociously, succeeding in scaring the two agents. DiNozzo fired but missed, and the monster gathered up McGee. Ziva and Tony tried their hardest to shoot at him, but with their quivering hands, it was hard to try and hit their opponent without hitting Tim as well.

A few strong flaps of the wings, and the two were gone, leaving Ziva and Tony in the alley, shaking and gasping in shock.

Gibbs, though he hadn't heard the radio call for help, did hear the gunshots as he pulled the van up to the mouth of the dark maze, and came sprinting to his agents, his heart pounding. He'd be damned if one of his kids was going to get hurt on his watch.

When he came around the corner, he was hit full force by the sight of Tony and Ziva, wide eyed and shaking, blood all over the ground. Tim was nowhere in sight.

The boss rushed to his kids, grabbing their shoulders and shaking them lightly to get their attention. "Hey, hey. What happened? Where's McGee?"

It was DiNozzo who spoke first. "He...he was bleeding...there was a guy...he had...he had wings, boss! What...he took Tim..."

It was as if ice water had been poured down his back. Jethro couldn't do anything but hold a gasping Tony and a shaking Ziva until they calmed down as much as possible.

"What was that thing?" Ziva whispered as the quakes stopped.

"Come on," Gibbs said, ignoring the question. "Get in the van, we need to get back to the hotel."

Ziva and Tony followed him and got in, all but ignoring the man handcuffed in the back seat.

When they got to the station, Gibbs yanked the mugger out and dragged him inside, where he met Agent Mallory.

"Agent Gibbs, what-" he was cut off as the team leader practically shoved the mugger at him.

"Lock him up in a holding cell," Gibbs ordered. Back outside in the van, Tony and Ziva didn't say a word, but simply stared into space, even when Gibbs got back in and drove them to the hotel.

They followed him inside and up the stairs without a word, operating on autopilot as Gibbs knocked on a room's door, which opened to reveal Ducky. "Jethro! You're back early, what..." he trailed off as he saw the agents' expressions. "Oh dear lord, come inside," he said, pulling his medical bag out along with some liquor for his patients. They were going to need it.

...

He felt little more than pain when he first regained consciousness. Everything was heavy, and he couldn't move, which caused him to absently wonder if he was in a coma. No, he wasn't, he could tell, because his head just tilted to the side a little bit.

He tried his eyes next, and as they fluttered, he heard a whispered curse from what sounded like an otherwise gentle voice. "He's waking up," the voice said. "I'm not finished. He'll be in pain."

Something was tugging at his chest and his shoulder, but it was a detached feeling, and he chose to ignore it.

"Give him another dose. A small one."

A dose? A dose of what? He wanted to refuse, but he couldn't move. Were his hands strapped down...?

A small point of pressure was felt on his arm, and he fell back into the realm of unconsciousness.

...

Ducky regarded Anthony and Ziva sadly. It would have been better for Gibbs to tell them all sooner...Maybe Tim would still be alive.

Jethro was pacing the room, unsure of how to explain this new reality to his remaining agents. The guilt and pain of loosing Tim was crushing him, and he felt that if he didn't do something to relieve the pressure, he would surely collapse. A glance at DiNozzo and David told him that they were as ready as they'd ever be, and he sat across from them (they were both perched on the edge of the bed) and met their eyes.

"Ready to talk about it?" he said as if they were children. They nodded silently.

"Alright. What did you see?" he began.

"Tim called for help over the radio, and we ran to him..." Ziva said. "We found him on the ground, bleeding. There was blood everywhere," she said, holding back a sob.

"Where was he bleeding from?" Ducky asked gently.

"His chest," Tony said bitterly, his eyes cast on the ground. "I didn't see exactly where, just on his chest."

Ducky nodded, and Tony continued. "There was a guy...his hands were covered in blood..." he said, but stopped, unable to finish.

"Did he have wings?" their boss asked. "Big white feathery wings?"

Ziva and Tony nodded. "Like those pictures of angels you see in kids' books," DiNozzo added.

Gibbs scoffed. "That was far from an angel."

"A demon?"

"No, not that either," he said, looking at Ducky, who took up the explanation.

"It was called a Flightling, Anthony," Doctor Mallard said. "Partially human, partially...well, no one knows what they are descended from. Most believe that their ancestors were angels that procreated with humans, but they are not celestial beings. They are horrid things."

If they hadn't seen it for themselves, they never would have believed the agent and the doctor.

"What makes them horrid?" Ziva asked, afraid of the answer. Gibbs and Ducky shared a saddened look before turning to her.

"They absorb the souls of their human victims, then kill them," Ducky said. "It leaves said victims with a grayish pallor."

"That's why Vance assigned us this case," Jethro admitted. "Miller looked like a victim of a flightling attack."

"Vance knows about them?" Tony asked. "Who else knows about them?"

Gibbs shrugged. "There are hunters here and there. The only other person who you know would be Fornell."

"Tobias Fornell? He knows about these things too?" Tony asked. "Why doesn't everybody?"

"Hunters like to keep it a secret," Gibbs shrugged. "To prevent mass hysteria."

"Not that anyone would believe it," the ME said.

"You hunt them, Gibbs?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah. And I should have told you about them sooner. But it's a miserable thing to be involved in. I didn't want to risk your lives."

After a long tense moment, his agents nodded. "I guess I understand," Tony said.

"Me too," his partner agreed.

It was quiet for a minute, then DiNozzo asked the question everyone had on their minds.

"So they...they took Tim? They took his soul?"

"It's how they become more powerful," Ducky answered, saying 'yes' without actually saying it.

Tears came to Ziva's eyes. "How many are there?"

"About 25,000 are left in the world, by our estimates," Ducky said. "Their population has been on a slow but steady downward trend over the past two centuries."

"They're easier to kill with modern weapons," Gibbs admitted.

Somehow, this information didn't comfort anyone in the room. Their youngest was dead, and they all blamed themselves.


	5. Chapter 4

**Hello! Another thanks to my readers, and A ****little shoutout goes to my reviewers earthdragon and Crawcolady for always being spot on- thanks for reviewing you guys!**

It's interesting how perfectly boring a human murderer seems after finding out that a winged monster from some sick nightmare has destroyed your best friend's life.

The case at hand was wrapped up in the next day and a half. The mugger admitted to killing Miller; he tended bar at a popular watering-hole near the station.

He and a friend slipped the occasional vial of phenytoin into an unsuspecting patron's drink to cause a bit of disorientation, then followed them home and jumped them. They had never intended to kill Miller, but the man was violent when drugged, and they had to fight back. The prisoner agreed to exchange his partner's address for alleviated charges.

They were back home in Washington D.C. within the week. Tony and Ziva tried to forget that they never got to go sight seeing with McGee.

The young agents for the most part kept to themselves, just as Gibbs had suspected they would. When they returned to work, Ziva kept her eyes cast down unless looking directly at someone, and DiNozzo turned his back to Tim's desk as much as possible.

Vance was informed, naturally, and he had to construct a story about Tim being killed in the line of duty. There was a funeral, and a surprising amount of people showed up, though Tim's father didn't deign to make an appearance, which only increased Gibbs' hatred for the man.

Abby showed up in Gibbs' basement several times that week, to sit, talk, cry and drink. Jethro began work on a new boat in McGee's honor. He would have constructed a coffin the same way he did for Mike Franks, but there was no body, and the reminder was just too painful.

His two agents, however, had yet to show up in his basement. At first, Gibbs feared that they blamed him in some way. But he didn't blame them for being angry-when your life is rocked as hard as theirs had been, it isn't a surprise to retreat into yourself.

It had been a week after McGee's funeral by the time Tony and Ziva ended in the basement. Unsurprisingly, they showed up together. But instead of sadness in their eyes, all he saw was anger and conviction.

He put down his drill and turned to face them, letting them speak first. The two younger agents shared a glance before DiNozzo looked at Gibbs and spoke.

"I want to hunt," he said with such a resounding finality that Jethro couldn't argue.

"So do I," Ziva said, stepping forward.

Their father-figure knew that he wouldn't be able to persuade them not to become hunters, but he felt old and tired at the thought of it. What he feared would happen actually happened: he had led his team to give up their lives for a hard new career of killing and being killed.

"It'll be dangerous," he sighed, knowing it wouldn't matter. It didn't.

"We don't care."

* * *

He could move this time, that was certain. Before his eyes were even open, he could feel his legs stretching and his feet flexing.

His upper chest hurt, as well as his shoulder. There was a dull throb in the back of his head, but he was otherwise fine.

He was on a soft bed. Or was it a couch? Only way to know was to open his eyes, so he did.

He was on a couch. Looking around, he didn't recognize the room, but was in awe of its size and grandeur.

Some sort of stone tiles covered the expansive floor, which glowed as it reflected the moonlight pouring in from the skylights. Though the room was rectangular, part of the ceiling was a great dome that was held up by sturdy columns. A few tables, chairs and couches lined the perimeters of the room, along with tall exotic plants that traveled up the walls. Electric lights placed strategically around provided a luminous aura without intruding on the classicism of the space. It was classy without being tacky or overdone, and it struck Tim that this place, whatever it was, must've been over a century old at least.

He slowly sat up, ignoring the soreness he felt in doing so. The blanket that had covered him fell away from his torso- he wasn't wearing a shirt...or shoes...his pants were still on, though.

"Glad to see you're awake," an unfamiliar voice said.

Tim jerked around to see a stunning young woman standing at the foot of the couch. Seeing his panicked expression, she put her hands up in a gesture of peace.

"Relax, it's ok. I know, must be a shock. Do you know who you are?"

"Uh...yeah, my name's Timothy," he said, worried that he had to contemplate the question for a moment. "Tim McGee."

"Good," she said, relaxing and coming to pull up a chair next to the couch. "Your memory is still intact."

"I'm sorry, I don't think it is..." Tim admitted. "Do I know you?"

The woman grinned assuringly. "No, you don't. Don't worry. My name's Victoria. You're in Valero Notte, Italy. You're clearly American...do you remember why you came to Italy?"

"No..." he said. "What's going on?"

"Oh good, you're awake," a strong male voice said, as a distinguished-looking man came through a door nearby. "Feeling any better?"

"His memory is scattered," Victoria said. "But he knows his name, at least."

"Well then, we'll start at the beginning," the man said, coming to stand next to her. "You've met Victoria. I'm Apollo Clark. This is my home. You're in Valero Notte, Italy."

Even hearing it the second time didn't help McGee to remember why he was here. "...but I don't know either of you, right?"

"Not until just now," Apollo chuckled. "I was on a walk the other night when I heard you call out for help. I found you bleeding from the shoulder and chest. You had been shot."

"Shot?" Tim echoed. "Why...?"

"I don't know, but you seemed to be in a hell of a lot of trouble when I found you. So, I brought you home and we patched you up. This is the first time you've been conscious since then."

"Thanks," McGee said sincerely. "So, are you two..together?"

"No!" Victoria laughed.

"Victoria is my daughter. Well, surrogate daughter," Apollo said. "We're American, like you. That reminds me..." he pulled a wallet our of his pocket and handed it to Tim. "I hope you don't mind, we took it from you when we were cleaning your wounds. We wanted to see who you were."

Opening the wallet, McGee found very little save a driver's license, a rewards card to some restaurant chain, and currency (both American and European). He studied his driver's license carefully, and learned that not only was he American (he remembered that much by himself) but he was from Maryland.

"Does that help you remember anything else?" Victoria asked.

"Not really," he admitted.

"Sometimes visual cues help a person to regain their memory," Apollo said. "But sometimes that do not. Unfortunately we only know as much as you do."

"Why is my memory gone in the first place?" Tim asked. "Did I hit my head or something?"

He really looked at his saviors for the first time, and noticed that Victoria's eyes were a stunning sapphire blue. It was unnatural, their color...

"No," Apollo shook his head. He looked as if he wanted to explain something, but didn't know how to. "Oh, how do I explain...?"

Victoria turned to the older man. "Why don't you just show him?"

Apollo nodded and looked at McGee. "Tim, I'm going to show you something. Please...just don't panic, alright?"

He nodded, afraid of what he was about to see. His imagination wasn't disappointed, as huge feathery wings stretched out from his host's back. They glistened with an ivory tone in the moonlight, and their full span must have stretched twelve feet- twice Apollo's height. Suddenly, the man's oddly-colored eyes made sense, as they just made him look all the more powerful and frightening.

"Timothy," Victoria's voice called him from his shock. "Breathe."

He did as she said, taking in a forced, harsh breath. Tim watched her stand as Apollo tucked his wings- they seemed to disappear out of thin air.

"You too?" he asked shakily, feeling slightly lightheaded.

"Guilty," she said with an apologetic smile, letting her wings show as well. They were a pure white, and they must have stretched as far as Apollo's did, though Tim couldn't be sure.

"Are you..." he began, having to swallow out of nervousness. "Are you angels?"

Victoria smiled kindly. God, she sure looked like an angel. "No, we're not."

"Some of us think that we are descended from them," Apollo explained. "Which seems like the most logical explanation," he chuckled. "If not the most arrogant."

"What are you, then?" Tim asked.

"Well, humans call us Flightlings, but the term comes with a sort of negative connotation, as I'm sure you'll soon find out."

"Why?" he asked, noting the look of apprehension that sprung to Apollo's face.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Tim! I forgot," he said, gesturing to Victoria, who folded her wings out of sight and gently took McGee's hand. Searching his face, she led him to one of the many gilded mirrors that hung over the side tables.

Tim looked from her to the mirror, and was frightened when he didn't recognize the face staring back at him. But after a moment, he realized that nothing had changed, only the color of his eyes. What was once a softer light green had sharpened into a striking emerald. They actually enhanced his appearance, he noted.

"What happened to them?" he asked, but quickly realized that the two were staring at him, waiting for him to come to the conclusion that his eyes were much like theirs.

"Wait," he said as his heart began to pound. "You mean I'm..?"

"Yes," Victoria said. "You're one of us, Tim. You are a flightling."

Time slowed down so quickly that he could practically hear the screech of nonexistent brakes.

He gasped out a simple "since when?" to which Apollo smiled.

"Since the night before last," he replied. "When I found you, I noticed your chest had a vague glowing light...that's the sign for a person about to become a flightling. The transition usually messes with your memory."

McGee was afraid to ask, but he had to. "Did you...did you turn me into one?"

"No," Apollo said. "It's not really possible to turn someone into a flightling. But usually people are born not knowing, thinking they're fully human, until they come in contact with another flightling. Your chest didn't start glowing until I grabbed your shoulder to stop the bleeding."

It was a lot to take in, but Tim was working to keep up.

"We understand, it's a shock," Victoria assured him.

"Do I have wings?" he asked quietly, and she nodded.

"How do I...?"

She led him under the domed part of the room- the area surrounded by the large circle of columns, where there was plenty of space away from the walls (where the more breakable mirrors and lamps sat.)

Letting go of his hand, Victoria stepped away. "This might hurt a bit, because your body isn't used to it. But it's instinct, and you'll adapt to it naturally, alright?"

He nodded, his heart beating faster.

"Just think about your wings stretching out from your back," Apollo advised, coming to stand next to Victoria.

Tim closed his eyes and let in a deep breath. Then he silently imagined two wings extending from his back and stretching out behind him. A tension began to build up in his upper back, and after a moment it turned to pain.

He gasped, thinking that the pain would be unbearable. Suddenly, his back seemed to break, and two huge wings did in fact leap forth, leaving him feeling shaky, but relieved that it was over.

It was bizarre, yet somehow totally natural. He could see what Victoria meant by instinct- suddenly, it was as if he had been missing an arm his entire life, and it was somehow returned to him. It was comfortable, almost familiar.

"You'll build muscle in your chest to balance out the weight," Apollo informed him. When Tim didn't respond, he frowned in concern. "Are you alright?"

Was he?

"I don't know," he said honestly, turning to look in the mirror. His wings must've been fifteen feet in span- more than twice his size. They weren't pure white like Victoria's or ivory like Apollo's, but they were their own beautiful shade of off-white. Somehow, they weren't flamboyant- they were understated. Somehow, they looked as natural as they felt.

Reaching back, he gently grabbed one of his wings and felt it. It was soft, but sturdy.

"They're just like any other bones. They're strong, but they can break," Apollo said. "And they can also heal."

"Is there anything else you -we- can do?" he asked.

"We can fly, if that's what you mean," Victoria said, extending her own wings. "I think you'll find you're also pretty strong, stronger than any human, anyway. Maybe more healthy. You're immune system is impeccable and you won't get sick. And your lifespan is probably double that of a human."

"But that doesn't mean you're indestructible," Apollo warned. "You can break, you can be killed. Wings are especially vulnerable to fire. You'll heal faster if you get shot, but humans that hunt flightlings have steel bullets and those are particularly destructive for us."

"Why do humans hunt flightlings?" Tim asked. Apollo and Victoria shared a sad look.

"I really wasn't planning on telling you everything tonight, but I suppose since you've asked..."

"Not all of us are good people," Victoria said. "Flightlings have bad reputations among the few humans who do know about us."

"There are certain ways to extend your life even longer, to make your wings more powerful, to make you stronger," Apollo began hesitantly. "To heighten their abilities, they consume the souls of humans."

"Really?" McGee asked.

"It's a horrid process for the human," Victoria said in disgust.

"How many of us do that?"

"More than half," Apollo shrugged. "Probably 75 percent of flightlings hunt down humans."

"It makes us all seem like soul-suckering monsters," Victoria explained. "Hunters will assume that you're an evil abomination, and they aren't swift in killing you. They usually take their time with it."

Tim failed to repress a shiver, shaking his entire body and making his wings quiver.

"How many flightlings are there in the world?"

"Probably about...15,000," Apollo said. "Less than the humans think."

McGee found himself exhausted once again. Finding out that you're not entirely human and that your kind is methodically hunted by humans will take a lot out of you. Victoria noticed.

"You're tired," she said. "You should sleep again."

"You are free to stay here as long as you wish," Apollo offered. "I have a book about us somewhere around here...I'll find it and give it to you in the morning."

McGee didn't bother to argue, but instead stared at his reflection in the mirror again.

"Why do my eyes look like that?"

"Something about our genes enhances the melanin levels in our eyes," she said. "There's a guest room right off this one."

She began to lead him there, but he hesitated. "How do I hide the wings?"

"Imagine them tucking away, and they will," Apollo said.

Within moments, the wings were gone, leaving behind two thin scars in their place.

"I'm afraid those are permanent," Victoria said, moving her long curly hair from her back, revealing two worn scars of her own.

"Fastest way to determine if someone's a flightling," she smiled. "Come on, you need rest."

Without even looking at the bedroom she led him to, he bid the two goodnight and entered, practically spilling onto the bed, asleep before he hit the pillow.


	6. Chapter 5

**This is just a short little filler chapter, but I'd advise you to note some of its details! :)**

It was already 10:30 in the morning when McGee woke up. At first he had forgotten the events of the night before, but as he looked around the room, everything came rushing back to him.

He sat up, looking down at himself, and realized that he was still wearing the same pants he had on from the night before, and no shirt.

As he got up and stretched, his newfound wings sprang into sight, stretching out and knocking over a lamp. Once he righted it, he put the wings away again to avoid any further messes.

Tim began to pace his room, unsure of what to do. The room itself was nicely decorated, with a small desk, a dresser, a bedside table, and a large leather chair. The ceiling was ornately decorated with original carvings, and a set of doors led to a large private bathroom. Would it be considered rude to take a shower? It wasn't his house, and he didn't know what he was allowed to do. Finally, as he passed the dresser, he found a small handwritten note.

Timothy,

There should be some clothes in the drawers; feel free to help yourself to them. There are towels in the bathroom cabinets. Also, there should be tea and coffee in the kitchen- please help yourself to something to eat.

~Apollo

Well, that was as kind an invitation as any! McGee quickly showered and dressed in a light tshirt and some jeans that fit him well enough. He was going to have to track down some new clothes as soon as possible.

At first, he got lost on his way to the kitchen, taking a wrong turn and finding nothing but a hallway of doors, so he back tracked and took a different route, finally ending up in a dining room. After that it didn't take much to find the kitchen, one room over.

"Good morning," Victoria smiled politely at him from the kitchen table. "How are you feeling?"

"Great, thanks," Tim smiled back. Although she seemed at ease around him, McGee noticed that she was very formal in mannerisms: keeping a good distance, being very careful not to touch him or brush against him- she had held his hand the night before, but its purpose was to lead him while he was in shock, nothing else.

"Is your memory any better?" she asked him. He thought about it, but still couldn't conjure up much about his past life. It was bizarre- he knew his age, his name, and that he was American, and he still retained the basic knowledge he had learned throughout his life...but he could not for the life of him remember a moment of time before he had woken up the previous evening.

"No," he frowned. "Will I ever get it back?"

"Some people do, some don't," she admitted. "I wouldn't have remembered my previous life if I hadn't stumbled upon my apartment one day. That sort of brought everything back."

He was about to ask her to elaborate, when she stood up and walked to the fridge. "Are you hungry? We've always got more food than we can eat."

"Actually, I am." He literally couldn't remember the last time he ate.

"I thought so," she said, reaching into a cupboard to retrieve a mug for coffee. "There is fruit in the refrigerator, and cereal in the pantry."

Tim looked around the kitchen, noting its modern features, like the appliances, and the features that had remained from when it was built, like a gaping fireplace large enough for him to stand in.

"How old is this house?"

"It was built in the late 1500s during the Italian Renaissance," she said, handing him the mug. "Most likely it was designed by one of the great masters. According to Apollo, it's been redecorated and renovated several times, but it is the original shape and structure."

At first he had thought it was his imagination, but as she moved around the room, he noticed that she was indeed keeping her distance. Though discreet, he could tell it was deliberate. When he took a step towards her to take the mug from her hand, he noticed that she held her hand in place, but shifted away slightly, almost unnoticeably.

Had he insulted her? The night before, he did react in fright and awe at seeing their wings, before finding that he had his own. Did he seem too frightened of her? Was she just being polite?

As he ate, she quietly sipped her coffee and flipped through the pages of a book- on the other side of the kitchen. When he was finished, she insisted that he leave the dishes in the sink.

"You're our guest," she said.

"I've got to do something," he said. "Otherwise I'll wander around, lost all day."

This gave her a genuine smile, not just a reassuring look.

"Come on," she offered. "I'll show you around the house."

He followed her down a hallway that opened up into the enormous room he woke up in. "You saw the ballroom last night," she said, gesturing to its grandeur. "Most of the house is actually only made up of four rooms. The rest are little bedrooms and guest rooms. The house was practically built for the sole purpose of throwing parties."

She walked under the dome, where a small bit of light shone through the skylights. Tim looked up to see a lazy drizzle pattering against the glass, the image of which reflected on the floor. As he shifted his weight to his other foot, he heard metal shift as well. Looking down, he realized he was standing on a drain, but it was so intricately designed that it was almost hidden in the floor.

"What's this for?" he asked, stepping off of it.

"There used to be a fountain where you're standing," Victoria said. "It was removed decades ago. I'm not sure why. But Apollo's mother ordered that they leave the drain. Apparently she liked to open the skylights and watch the rain fall in."

"Huh," McGee said aloud.

"His mother was really creative. Wait until you see the library."

She turned and headed toward a staircase that Tim hadn't noticed before. It wasn't large or particularly grand, it simply served to lead up to a heavy set of oak doors, which Victoria threw open with ease, revealing an enormous personal collection of books. The right wall contained nothing but book shelves and a sort of balcony, upon which sat a desk. The left wall had a large fireplace and many wonderful paintings of the Italian countryside, of Venice, and of children playing in a field. Large Turkish rugs covered every inch of the floor, and a grand piano sat by a pair of windows on the far wall. Books covered almost every inch of the room. The sight made Tim's heart swell. His past may have been forgotten, but not his love of knowledge. Victoria was delighted by his expression.

"I can tell you're a reader. So are we."

"This is incredible," McGee said.

"Thank you," Apollo's voice called from the balcony, where he sat looking down on the two. "My family has a rich history of book-collecting. And speaking of," he said, taking a small set of stairs down to the floor. "I found the book, just as I promised."

He handed a ragged little volume to Tim, who opened it to the cover page and noted the signature of the author.

"Darwin?!" he exclaimed. "Darwin was a flightling too?"

"No," Apollo chuckled. "But his wife was. The story is that he was so fascinated by her that he did a whole study on flightlings alone. Hence the book."

Tim began to skim the first chapter, which covered the origin of the species itself.

"It says that no one knows the true origin of the flightlings," he said.

"The interbred-with-angels idea is just one," Victoria said. "The other is that we come from humans that simply evolved incorrectly."

"Which Darwin disputes on the next page, I believe," Apollo said, noticing Tim turn the page.

"It makes no sense to me either. If we were just some horrid bird-people, we would have other bird characteristics, which we don't."

"And it wouldn't account for the strength or health," Victoria added. "The other concept is that we are mutants, that a gene somewhere along the line became so warped that it gave us a whole new set of abilities."

"But then the whole human soul thing makes no sense," McGee said.

"Exactly," Apollo agreed.

Tim continued to read the titles of each chapter. One outlined in detail the abilities of a flightling, and another described the anatomy of the wings.

"I'll take good care of this," he promised, closing it gently.

"Let's go put it in your room," Victoria offered. "I'll show you the rest of the house along the way."

She led him through a large courtyard full of plants McGee had never seen before. Rain splashed against its tiles, decorated in intricate arabesque. They passed through a long dining room into a more modern living room, with comfortable furniture and a TV. A stylish bar sat in the corner.

"Honestly, this is where we spend most of our time. Here and the library," Victoria said. The rest of the house is just bedrooms and baths. And you've seen the kitchen and the dining room. When it's not raining, I'll show you the garden."

He hadn't mentioned it before, but a dull ache had begun to settle in his back. He felt the urge to expand his wings.

"Victoria," he said. "Is it normal for your back to hurt all the time?"

"Oh, feel free to let your wings out," she said. "It is normal, especially in the beginning. The more you walk around without them, the more it will feel normal. It's just more convenient; walking around with your wings out makes you more likely to knock something over on accident."

He tired to do as she said, but was hindered by his shirt.

"What do I do about my clothes?" he asked, not liking the idea of having to go around without a shirt in order to move his wings.

Victoria ran into the kitchen and returned with a pair of scissors. "Turn around."

Still careful not to touch him, she cut two thin lines down the back of the shirt, barely noticeable to the naked eye.

"You'll get good at this," she assured him. "I'm lucky because most of my tops are low-backed. You, on the other hand, will have to master this trick. Honestly, the safest thing is to not cut slits in all your shirts. Sometimes, especially in the beginning, you'll be inclined to stretch them out by reflex, and you won't even notice you're doing it. If that happens out in public, you're in trouble. So if you have material that will hinder them, you'll be reminded to keep them in check."

"I guess I'm going to have to buy a new wardrobe once I leave here," Tim said.

"You know, Apollo wasn't kidding when he said you could stay as long as you want. We like having guests, and friends pass through all the time."

"I appreciate it, but I don't want to impose," he said.

"Please. There's five bedrooms in this house, we only use two. Anyway, I think you should at least stay until you master the whole flying thing, and you can't do that until you've built up enough muscle in your chest. By the way, make sure to walk around with your wings out as much as you can for the next few days, it speeds up the process. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do. I'll most likely be in my bedroom or in the library if you need me."

She left him alone in the living room with his thoughts. He had completely forgotten about flying. It made him nervous just thinking about it. Somewhere deep down, the flightling half of him didn't seem bothered by the idea. But he was part human as well, and it frightened the human in him profusely.

That thought got him wondering what percentage of his genes were human and what percentage wasn't. Did it work as some dominant and recessive gene set up? Or was it that everyone who descended from an angel could be a flightling? He seriously doubted that one; that would mean that other members of his biological family were flightlings, and he would have grown up knowing his full lineage.

He looked through the table of contents in the book Apollo gave him, and found that there was a chapter on genetics. He found his way back to his guest room and sat down at the desk to read.

McGee stayed that way for hours, enthralled by his reading when a knock came at his door.

"Come in," Tim called, not looking up from the book.

"I don't mean to intrude, Timothy," Apollo said, opening the door. "But we have dinner ready, if you'd like some."

He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and his stomach suddenly growled, angry that it had been ignored all day.

"Oh, thanks," he said eagerly, rising from his desk. He was about to follow Apollo from the room, when he realized now would be the time to ask his question. "I don't mean to be rude, or too forward, but is Victoria always-"

"So stiff?" Apollo said, amused. "She's a wonderful person, and she's not usually like this, no. She has a tendency to be distant or overly formal with strangers. She'll come out of it, just give it time."

"Oh," was all he could say as they walked down the hall, still wondering if it was something he'd done.


	7. Chapter 6

Tony and Ziva had shown up in Gibbs' basement like they promised, and true to his word, Gibbs was prepared to train them.

"Hey Boss- whoa, I've never seen this place look so empty," DiNozzo said, looking around. The woodworking project that was usually placed right in the middle of the room had been shoved to the corner, and was sitting there in the shadows covered by protective tarp. With it out of the way, the room was much larger than it seemed, and there was considerable room for learning how to fight.

Jethro put aside his mason jar full of Jack Daniels' and lifted a rather large pile of files, which he handed to his kids.

"What are these?" Ziva asked, opening them and flipping through them.

Before he could answer, the sound of the front door opening was heard, and footsteps on the stairs were drowned out by "for god's sake Jethro, you'd think you'd lock the damn door when you're training people to hunt."

Gibbs gave his trademark smirk as Tobias Fornell reached the bottom of the stairs.

"You bring the food, Tobias?"

"I said I would. And don't worry, it's not the Punjab Express this time," he said, handing burgers to Tony, Ziva, and Gibbs, then pulling out his own.

"Thanks," Tony said.

"We did not know you would be here," Ziva said.

"I heard about McGee, and I wanted to help you two," Fornell said, masking his kindness by rummaging through the takeout bag while he spoke. "Gibbs, why'd you have me bring two extra?"

"You aren't the only expert in the field," Vance said, entering the basement with Ducky on his heels. "That's why."

Fornell handed out the last two sandwiches, and the four older, experienced hunters scattered around the room to eat and look through files full of information on flightling threats in the area.

"First," Ducky said, before Gibbs could speak. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"It's a hell of a life," Tobias warned. "And once you start, it's pretty difficult to get out of."

"You think I didn't try that already?" Gibbs bristled. He more than anyone else hated that it had come to this. And the worst part was, he knew it was his fault.

"We are sure," Ziva said confidently, and Tony nodded.

"We want to keep people safe from these things," he added. The unspoken "and avenge our best friend's death" resounded throughout the room as if he'd screamed it.

Vance looked at Gibbs and raised an eyebrow. "Might as well start."

Jethro turned to a notebook on his workspace and tossed it to Tony, who opened it, Ziva looking over his shoulder.

"That's a field guide on hunting flightlings," he said. "Some of it is outdated, but it's important."

They promised to read it, then settled in to listen and learn.

"Flightlings are partially human creatures with wings, and amazing strength, with the ability to steal the souls of human beings," Ducky began. "They are supposedly descended from angels who interbred with humans, but as I told you before, no one knows for sure."

"The main thing is," Fornell put in, "they are at least part human. Meaning they have human weaknesses. Their bones can be broken, they can die. But they don't get sick, that we know of."

"It's pretty easy to tell who is a flightling," Vance said, pulling out another file and handing it to the little audience. "First of all, their strength."

"How strong are they?" Ziva asked.

"Strong enough to pull limbs off with their bare hands," Vance said grimly. "Strong enough to bend some metals, though steel seems to be a problem for them."

"Jesus," Tony muttered, paling at the thought.

"Also, their eyes. We think it has something to do with their genes and their melanin levels, though no one has been able to get close enough to a flightling to be study it," Ducky said. "Their eyes are vibrant and strange, often very beautiful."

"But don't think that someone's dangerous just because they've got nice eyes," Gibbs said, rolling his own eyes a bit.

"The most obvious is their scars," Ducky said, indicating another photo of a slain flightling, who had neat little puckered scars running halfway down their back, on either side of the spine.

"That's where their wings are," Fornell said. "They usually get scars, since they're constantly moving their wings in and out of their backs."

"It doesn't hurt them?"

"No, once they 'break in' their wings, it seems they can extend and hide them as much as they want."

"Ok, what else?" Tony asked.

"Flightlings live all over the world," Vance said. "Most often in urban, populated areas or in places where they have resided over many centuries-"

"Like Valero Notte?" Ziva asked, to which he nodded.

"Weaknesses," Gibbs began. "Include steel and fire. Their wings are their strong point, but they can be vulnerable."

"You take just one wing out of commission, and they're done," Vance said.

"Wait, what do you mean, fire?" Ziva asked.

"Their wings catch pretty quickly," Fornell clarified.

"And they are only as fast as the average human, on foot," Ducky informed.

"How many hunters are there in America?" Ziva questioned.

"There are more in bigger cities, like New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Detroit... some regions only have a few hunters, because there is less need," Vance said.

"The Midwestern states have so few flightlings that only one guy we know of actually hunts them out there. His name is John-"

"No, he's not hunting anymore," Gibbs said. "He was killed."

"Really?" Vance asked, surprised.

"Apparently, his two sons have the area now," Fornell said. "They pretend to be FBI guys. Gives me a hell of a lot of trouble from time to time."

* * *

Hours passed as the four explained previous hunts, good strategies, weapons, and former flightlings that had terrorized Washington DC in the past. DiNozzo and Ziva were amazed to hear that a handful of their past killers, and even a few victims, were flightlings.

When the lesson was ended for the night, everyone promised to report back next week for another 'class'. But Tony had one more question before they were done.

"How do they take souls?" he asked. They all went quiet, no one sure how to explain.

"Through the heart," Vance said hoarsely.

"They usually have to touch or grasp the heart to take a soul," Gibbs said. "We told you they're strong."

"Wait, they just...they puncture through the chest?! With their whole hands?!" Tony cried.

"They usually only use their fingers," Fornell said, looking at the ground.

"Remember your murder victim at Valero Notte, with the odd puncture wounds in his chest?" Ducky asked. "We know now that those were the doing of bullets, but often, flightlings can puncture through the chest with their fingers, and get to the heart. All while the human is still alive."

Ziva looked remarkably pale, while Tony had turned an unhealthy shade of green. Now they understood why these monsters had to be stopped, and could only imagine the horrors Tim must've gone through in his last moments...

* * *

After the rest had gone, Ziva and Tony sat at Gibbs' workbench, each with their own glass of whiskey. At first, none of them spoke, too tired and worn for conversation, until Ziva brought up the thing most on her mind.

"We want to go after the flightling that took Tim."

Gibbs sighed; he had known this was coming. Tony continued.

"From what you guys have told us, they pretty much stay in the same place. He's gotta be in Valero Notte still, right?"

"Maybe," Gibbs said. "He could also be in Venice, or Naples, or any other city in the country."

"It's worth a shot," Tony said, visibly distressed.

"Hey," Jethro said, lightly hugging Ziva with one arm, and putting his other hand on Tony's shoulder. "We'll find him."

They nodded solemnly.

...

A long while later, as they moved to leave, Gibbs stopped them. He didn't want to make them relive such a horror, but it might help to know...

"What did the guy who...took Tim...what did he look like?"

"He had these amazing light brown eyes. He was shorter than me, but not short," Tony said.

"He looked somewhat distinguished, Gibbs," Ziva said.

Fear gripped Gibbs from the darkest recesses of his memory. "How old did he look?"

"Mid to late forties," Tony said. "Goodnight Boss."

"Goodnight Gibbs."

Their team leader may have answered them, but he didn't hear himself. All he could see was a memory of darkness, and hear an angry hiss from a flightling that was currently dead.

At least, he was _supposed_ to be dead. Gibbs had watched him die...right?

No, it could be anyone, he was being foolish. But those eyes weren't ones he'd ever forget, and how many flightlings had the decency to look _distinguished_?


	8. Chapter 7

**Ok, this one might have a bit of a trigger later on (mentions of attack, etc) I'm probably just being overly cautious, but it's better to be safe than sorry. **

McGee stayed with the Clarks for a week, as Apollo helped him procure new clothing and Victoria showed him around Valero Notte. He quickly fell in love with the city, just as his new friends had- the modern people, the old buildings, even the warped maze of alleys (which he was learning to navigate by heart).

He was picking up new information left and right: he found out that Apollo was an International Relations professor when he wasn't at home or traveling. "He's the Indiana Jones of the field," as Victoria had put it.

Tim also learned little details about his hosts that he found charming: Victoria was a gardener and a talented dancer, Apollo was skilled at the piano. And they learned the little things about him; that he appreciated wine, and had an incredible aptitude for computers.

It turned out that they had friends all over the city. Obviously, in refusing to steal souls, Apollo and Victoria chose a much more peaceful existence, and could focus on living normal lives.

Still, though Apollo treated McGee like a member of the Clark family, Victoria kept a respectful distance from him in every meaning of the word- she left him plenty of time alone to himself and never shared much about her own life. She wasn't cold to him whatsoever, in fact she was completely genuine. But her walls were up, for reasons Tim didn't know and couldn't guess.

As she'd promised, the little wing exercises paid off. Within the week Tim could tell the muscular differences between brand new wings and wings that were only a few days old. His chest felt satisfyingly sore from the rapid buildup of muscle; though he looked the same in every way, his upper body was slightly more sturdy, ready for the strain flying would put on it.

By the end of that same week, the three had convened in the library to inspect McGee's wings.

Apollo had the younger man do a few exercises with his wings as if testing the wings of an airplane.

"They seem sound," Apollo commented, stepping back. "How do they feel, Timothy?"

Tim grinned and flapped the huge white appendages. "Awesome."

Victoria and Apollo shared a look. "How about learning to fly?" Victoria asked happily.

...

The house had a staircase that led up to a small platform on the roof, which could fit several people.

"Wow," Tim commented, stepping out and seeing the gorgeous city at night. Lights twinkled across the town and reflected on the water. Because Valero Notte wasn't a very metropolitan area, the sky had no light pollution, and displayed the stars proudly.

"This is amazing," he breathed.

"My grandfather had this platform installed," Apollo said, coming to stand next to him. "He was a flightling as well. I've found it is a good place to take off from. This is where I learned how to fly. And Victoria."

Tim watched carefully as Victoria stepped to the ledge, facing away from them, and spread her wings.

"Alright," Apollo began, coming to use her wings as a diagram. "See these feathers up here? Their purpose is for supporting you during flight. And these," he said, "are for aerodynamics."

"It's less about flapping your wings and more about riding air currents," Victoria explained. "If you don't, you'll run out of energy, and you might fall."

"If you do fall, don't panic," Apollo said. "Just flatten them out and tilt them until you catch another current."

Tim extended his wings again and felt the breeze whip through them. This was the first time he was in open air with his wings out, and it filled him with energy and excitement.

"Usually, when you take off, you bend your knees and push, like you're jumping off a diving board," the eldest Clark said, indicating the right way to angle the wings.

"How do I land?" Tim asked.

"You've seem a bird alight on a fence or a telephone wire before, yes? It's the same thing. You just want to bend slightly, and put your legs out to land on your feet."

Apollo pointed to the neighboring building: a large, somewhat gothic church stood next door, only separated from the house by an alley several yards across. "See that ledge on the church's roof? Where the gargoyles are all lined in rows? We'll start you off by flying from here to there. It will be over before you've realized you're in the air. Victoria, why don't you go first to demonstrate."

It never occurred to Tim to mark this as the first time he ever saw a flightling fly. Perhaps he was distracted by how amazing it was. Pacing the edge with a catlike fearlessness, Victoria lightly bent her knees, her arms angled back just like a gymnast about to do an intricate somersault. Pushing off the edge of the roof, her wings almost immediately caught the breeze and her height increased as she soared across the alley, never looking down. She touched down and straightened, turning to look back at the two men, and waved in encouragement.

"See? Not so bad. With your strength, you could probably jump the distance," Apollo said.

"I can't say I believe that."

"No, I didn't think so. I've never tried jumping myself. But I guarantee you can make it across. And I will catch you if you don't."

Tim chuckled, trying not to shake. Mimicking Victoria's movements, he stepped out on the edge, and jumped.

Apollo was right: he didn't even have time to register the fact that he was in the air (and not in fact falling) before he was close to the church. Out of inexperience and nervousness, he didn't allow himself enough time to land, and therefore crashed into the side of the church before falling onto the second-story walkway that Victoria stood on.

He lay there for a moment, the wind knocked right out of him. Tim could hear Victoria gasping for breath in an attempt not to laugh.

"Alright, alright," he sputtered once he could speak again. "Go on, laugh. I'm sure it looked silly."

"Cartoonish," Victoria giggled, causing him to laugh in spite of his embarrassment.

"Your takeoff was great, though," she assured him. "Are you ok?"

"Yes."

"Good. Try flying back to the ledge."

Determined to get it right this time, McGee took off again, and landed cautiously onto the roof.

"Much better," Apollo said, clapping him on the back.

They had him go back and forth many more times to make sure he had the take off and landing down. His whole body ached in anticipation to really fly.

"I think I've got it," he said. "Can we go a longer distance now?"

Apollo's eyes glinted mischievously. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"I'm ready."

"Follow me, then."

Apollo took off and gained altitude, leaving Tim behind.

"Hey!" McGee gasped as he tried to keep up. The older man chuckled.

"Don't look now, but you're really flying."

He was. Tim was flying.

"Oh my god," he shouted, his voice lost to the wind, which was stronger without the buildings to break it. Energy radiated through him and around him as if he were a part of the sky itself. The light that glowed in his chest was traveling through his arms and up and down his wings, which flapped once happily.

It was as if he'd been electrocuted, but there was no lightning in the air that night. Either way, he seemed to conduct a nonexistent burst of electricity. He was powerful and strong and happy.

He was free.

Closing his eyes for a moment, McGee didn't mind that he couldn't remember his past, he didn't mind that he would be practically anonymous and homeless once he left the care of Apollo and Victoria. All of his problems melted away. What did they matter from this high up?

Apollo led Tim away from the buildings and toward the open water where they wouldn't be seen. Slowing a bit to allow Tim to fly next to him, Apollo smiled and dropped down until he was right above the sea. Picking up his pace, the older man ever so slightly brushed his fingertips against the water, careful not to slow himself down so that he did not crash into the waves. McGee, riding the high of this new experience, followed Apollo and did the same, brushing his finger against the water. Spurred on by this new accomplishment, he flapped his wings as hard as he could, shooting ahead. However, his mentor quickly caught up as they once again increased altitude by a few feet and spread out.

Something blew past Tim, knocking the seemingly permanent smile off his face for a minute as he regained his equilibrium. But he laughed when he saw that it was Victoria, who looked happier than he'd ever seen her. And he understood why...this was probably the happiest he'd ever been.

Deciding to show a bolder side of herself, Victoria angled herself upwards and quickly flapped her wings in double time, gaining speed and height fast. When she was well ahead of Tim and Apollo, she tucked her wings close to her back without making them disappear and let herself fall backwards. Just as McGee's heart stopped in fright- surely she was going to kill herself -her wings stretched out as far as they could go, immediately billowing as they caught the wind and she leveled out again. Though seemingly impossible, Victoria had just completed a neat and elegant backflip in mid air.

Tim jerked his head to look at Apollo, who just shook his head and chuckled "show off."

The three of them stayed out there for close to an hour, not speaking (it was unnecessary) and simply flying around and racing. Though Tim was not even close to being ready to do flips or intricate stunts, they did teach him how to dive and pull up at the last minute. McGee enjoyed simply watching as Apollo and Victoria began to try and outdo each other. With many more years of experience, Apollo claimed the victory by hovering for several seconds at a time, something almost impossible even for flightlings.

Though Tim tried to hide it, Apollo could tell when his wings began to grow tired. "You don't want to push it," he said as they landed back on the roof of the house. "The last thing you want is for them to give out. Then you'll fall right out of the sky."

"Can I at least stay out and practice flying from here to the church again?" Tim asked.

"I'll stay with him," Victoria offered.

"That's fine. Just don't overdo it," he said as he reentered his home, leaving the two of them alone.

For a while, Victoria watched as Tim flew back and forth between the two buildings. Eventually they sat to rest on the church's open walkway. Tim gazed out at the city once more, not believing how beautiful it was. Apollo's enormous, ancient home was dwarfed by the cathedral, as if in respect for the house of worship.

"I'd never seen the house from above before," he chuckled. "...How long has it belonged to Apollo's family?"

"I think the Clarks have owned the house since it was built," she said. "Tracing way back to Renaissance times. Apollo's father traveled the world, and his mother and the kids lived near the Hamptons in New York. In the summers, they all lived here," she gestured to the beautiful house. Wisteria crept its way out from the courtyard and onto the chimney.

Tim looked from the home to the church they had landed on. "This place looks beautiful. What does it look like on the inside?"

"I've never been," she admitted, and he scoffed in disbelief.

"You've lived with Apollo for how long?"

"Five years."

"And you've never been in the building right next door? Even if it was just an office building or something, you'd think you would have seen the inside."

When she didn't answer, he looked at her and saw a sad look on her face. "I don't...we're not exactly welcome inside," she finally answered.

"What? Why?"

She sighed. "There is not a single religion that sees us as good creatures, but some even see us as downright evil. Which I don't blame them for," she said, a touch of self loathing in her eyes. Remembering that Tim was there, she straightened and looked out over the city. The lights glistened against her skin and made her eyes glow. "Remember how we're supposed to be descendants of fallen angels? For most, that means actual 'fallen' angels. Like, angels who have turned against heaven."

"You mean demons?"

"Yes."

He was quiet for a minute, contemplating this. "What do you think about it?"

She sighed. "I really don't know. I grew up in a somewhat religious community, but honestly, this isn't about religion for me. It's just about us not being trusted, because people assume we're evil. The priest at this church knows what we are. He's afraid of Apollo, it's clear, but he just doesn't like me. Next time we go out, we'll pass the church as a mass is ending. You know how the priest comes outside to shake hands with everyone? Whenever I happen to walk by, he glares at me.""

"Really?"

"Yes. But if Apollo is with me, he'll just widen his eyes and scurry back into the church," she smiled wanly. "He's an odd little man. So to answer your question, no. I've been living in this house for half a decade, and I've never even been inside the church next door." She smiled wryly, looking out over the houses below. "Who knows, maybe he's just trying to help us. Maybe we'll burst into flames if we cross the threshold."

Suddenly finished talking about it, she stood.

"Ever wonder about where gargoyles come from? Who inspired them?" she asked, leaning against one and patting it on the head.

"Flightlings?" he asked incredulously, to which she nodded.

"If the inhumane treatment of victims isn't enough to convince you never to steal a soul," she said, gazing at the gargoyle's face. "Then the effect it has on you physically sure will."

"It makes you look like that?"

"Sort of. It does mess with your eyes, and your skin. Some of them do have sharper teeth, which is probably where the idea for the vampire came from... Maybe you don't grow horns, but you begin to look as evil as you are. It's complicated. If you see a flightling who has been taking souls, you'll know what I mean."

Once again, an unhappy look fixed itself upon her face.

"Victoria..."

She looked up at him attentively.

"Are you... Did I do something wrong?"

This time, surprise covered her features. "Why would you think that?"

"You always keep a huge distance from me."

"What? No I don't."

"You're doing it right now."

It was true, Victoria had perched several feet away from Tim, much more than what was considered polite space.

"It's not like you have to sit right next to me or anything," he assured her. "I'm a fan of personal space myself, but even when we're just waking down the hall at the same time. You don't allow anything less than five feet from me. Is it something I said or did?"

She looked absolutely distraught at this. "I am so sorry," she said earnestly. "I never meant to make you uncomfortable or insulted."

"No, it's ok, I'm just curious. Apollo said you have a thing about strangers."

She smiled. "You could call it that."

"But it's not shyness," Tim persisted. He figured that they might as well get it all out at once, instead of several awkward conversations in a row. "You always look so unhappy when we talk about flightlings. Do you not like being a flightling, Victoria?"

The young woman was stunned, unprepared to have this conversation. But, she decided, Tim deserved the truth after she had made him so uncomfortable all week.

"I don't dislike being a flightling," she began. "Sometimes it is just difficult to...come to terms with. Yes, even after five years. You won't have this problem, I don't think."

"So why do you have this problem?" he asked with the air of a therapist.

She paused and studied him out of the corner of her eye. "I'm assuming Apollo didn't tell you how he came to find me."

"No."

"My biological family was from Florida. But I always loved New York. So, I decided to go to college there."

Tim listened intently, knowing that this was about to take a dark turn.

"One night in my last year, a friend of mine-my roommate- and I went out to a party. Not like the crazy ragers that most twenty-somethings have. If I remember correctly, it was just a birthday party for an acquaintance of ours. When it was over we walked home. And we were...well, we were attacked."

McGee winced.

"I don't remember too much about it, but...my roommate..." Victoria fought back tears and a sob. "I could hear her screaming, and- and there were two of them- and the other one grabbed me-" she cut off, her eyes shut tight. Before Tim could speak, she continued.

"He was a flightling, I know now, because as soon as he touched me, my chest lit up, and he panicked and ran. The other one must have as well, because the screaming stopped...and then I passed out."

"Jesus," Tim muttered.

"No, that part wasn't so bad, because that part is all a vague hazy memory. The worst part was when I woke up. She was there, practically on top of me. She looked...she looked awful. She was dead. Her skin was gray, there was blood everywhere. Her chest had an awful cavity...that was the first thing I saw as a flightling. And at that moment, I didn't even remember who she was. I screamed and ran in confusion."

"When did you get your memory back?" Tim asked.

"I stumbled around the city for a while. I probably just looked like some homeless girl with crazy eyes and frizzy hair. Three days after, I somehow had walked past my apartment building. And everything came rushing back to me. I ran inside and the first thing I did was take a shower. After that, when I looked in the mirror I saw my eyes and panicked. Then after I got dressed, I remembered everything else. I remembered that the girl in the alley was my best friend. And she was dead."

"I'm sorry, Victoria."

"The worst part was that I had become the thing that took her life," she admitted, a few tears finally spilling over. "Because I have the capacity to do that. And I never have, but...I hate thinking that one day I might, just on accident."

"You won't."

She nodded, her eyes closed in pain. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," she whispered, and took off, flying past the roof and landing in the courtyard, leaving Tim alone.

Why did he have to ask? Why did he have to go and open his big mouth?! He didn't mean to upset her!

He decided to go after her, landing lightly on the opposite side of the courtyard from where she stood.

Victoria was leaning on the rough stone wall, resting her forehead against the ivy. Her wings were drooping into the tiled little fountain behind her, though she didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were closed, but it was clear even from across the dark and misty courtyard that she was crying.

Tim wasn't sure if he should say anything or leave her alone, but she spoke before he could make up his mind. "You're staring."

"I'm sorry," he began, but she continued without opening her eyes.

"No, don't apologize," she said gently. "You didn't need to know."

"I asked."

"I could've lied."

"But you wouldn't."

Her lips twitched up into a smile, finally relaxed for the first time. Her eyes opened and she found his. "The rest of the story isn't so bad. I had actually known Apollo for a long time- he was a friend of my grandfather's, and I had met him once or twice. He was at the school doing some lecture as a guest-speaker, and he passed me in the hall, and recognized me. He noticed my eyes and he could tell right away what I was, and pulled me aside and explained everything to me. We kept in contact, because he was finally glad to have a flightling friend who was American like he is, and I needed someone to explain the finer details."

"What about your family?" McGee asked carefully, still on the other side of the courtyard. A heavy mist had settled over everything, punctuating the quiet and giving an eerie feeling.

Victoria scoffed. "I was an only child, and it was just me and my father... He wasn't ever really happy to have me around, and he exactly sad to see me go."

She looked at him again suddenly. "So Apollo offered to take me in. And as it turns out, he was happy to have a daughter around."

Tim put his wings away and stepped toward her, crossing the courtyard. As he drew near, he left a considerable amount of space.

"I'm the one who's sorry," she apologized. "You've been here a week and I've now shunned you and cried in front of you."

He laughed. "Both of those things are my fault."

"Let's start over then," she said, stepping up to him and holding out her hand to shake. "I'm Victoria."

"I'm Timothy, but you can call me Tim."

She laughed, finally being herself. "Better?"

He nodded, feeling like they were friends.

"Now," she said, brightening and straightening, her wings freed from the fountain. "You only saw the city itself from the ground. How about seeing it from the air?"


	9. Chapter 8

3 Months Later...

McGee had assumed that he would be gone within two or three weeks, but he ended up staying for three months, and the longer he stayed at their home, the more comfortable the three were with each other. Victoria's movements were less forced, and the formal tone in her voice slowly went away, replaced by a friendly familiarity. Almost unintentionally the two became good friends, and quickly forged a relationship like that of siblings.

The former NCIS agent quickly began to pick up the Italian language, and Apollo helped him greatly, as he had grown up in a household that spoke both English and Italian. Victoria was fluent from her years in Valero Notte, and helped him build up a strong vocabulary.

Apollo procured a laptop for Tim, who tried his hardest to do research on himself. But he'd never been one for social networks, and he turned up nothing in that department. Simply googling his name was of course a failure, as 10,000 different Timothy McGees came up and he didn't recognize a single one of them.

He eventually gave up the search for his identity online, and decided that the wise thing to do would be to go to America himself and find the address on his driver's license. But he didn't have a key to any apartment or house, so he wondered how he would prove any ownership to said property. For all he knew, his landlord (because he realized that he couldn't afford a house; he had to have an apartment) had already tossed out his belongings. He would have to find his friends or family, whoever and wherever they were...

And how he would make money was a large question. After being gone without explanation for three months, would his work even take him back? Probably not.

Sometimes he was gripped with fear. After learning about Victoria's past he couldn't help but wonder if he did in fact have a family or a job. When he woke for the first time, he found out that he had been shot. What kind of life was he coming from? It might have been a terrible one.

But at the insistence of Apollo and Victoria, he tried not to think like that.

He slowly but surely gathered up plans: he decided he would get a hotel nearby his old address, and check it out. If someone was already living there, and it didn't help his memory, he would check missing persons notices around that area to find out if anyone was looking for him. (Little did he know that the rest of the world thought him to be dead.)

It was a long shot, but still worth a try.

One night he was in the midst of securing a ticket for a flight to Washington DC when Apollo stuck his head through the door.

"Tim, may we speak to you for a moment?"

Fear gripped the young man as he stood and followed him out the room. McGee had known this day was coming; it was only a matter of time before he wore out his welcome and they asked him to leave. He tried not to let it bother him, telling himself that they had taken him in out of kindness, they probably had things to do and places to go, and of course he needed to find out his own past, and...

He was already pale and resigned when Apollo stopped under the dome in the main room, where Victoria was standing. Their faces were unreadable and passive until Apollo began to speak.

"Timothy, we've really enjoyed having you here these past few months."

"You don't have to say any more," Tim replied politely.

Apollo looked surprised. "I don't?"

"I've overstayed my welcome. I understand, and I'm so sorry to inconvenience you. I was just making plans to get a flight back to America."

Victoria began to giggle, but it soon turned into full-on laughter that rang against the walls. Apollo smiled and tried not to do the same.

"We were just about to ask the complete opposite. We don't want you to leave, son, we want you to stay."

"What?"

"We're asking you to be part of this household," Victoria explained patiently.

Tim studied their expectant faces, looking for signs of a joke. "No, really."

"We do," Apollo said. "You're an incredibly intelligent person, and you're quite agreeable. We enjoy having you here. And I know you want to look for your friends and your family, which we will help with as much as we can, but perhaps you might want another family in the meantime?"

Tim said nothing, stunned, so Apollo continued.

"It's not always so quiet in this house," he promised. "We often have many interesting friends around, many of them flightlings. And we travel often, which I think you would enjoy. Of course, you're an adult and you may come and go as you please. Occasionally, Victoria or I will go on our own private excursions back to the States."

"We're not just offering to be friends, Tim. We care about you," Victoria said. "We-"

McGee silenced him by encasing them both in a hug, his wings leaping forward by reflex and wrapping themselves around the three.

"Thank you," he murmured, to which Victoria returned the hug and Apollo put his hand on Tim's shoulder.

...

Later that evening, Apollo and Tim sat in the library; Victoria had gone out to enjoy her evening with some friends from the town.

"Obviously, we wouldn't have asked you if we didn't believe you to be a loyal person," the older man said.

"Trust me, you two are literally all I have right now," McGee said. "I would never do anything to hurt you after everything you've done for me."

This seemed to satisfy the head of the Clark family, who smiled. "I have something for you."

He stood and climbed the stairs up to his loft, where he dug a small object out of his desk. Returning, he handed it to Tim.

It was a lovely little pocket watch that bore the crest of the Clark family. Its battery did not work, and in the modern world, it served as little more than a relic and an heirloom.

"Obviously you're not going to be carrying it around with you all day," Apollo said. "But it has been in my family for generations."

"Wow," McGee said, studying it reverently. "Thank you."

The large oak doors creaked, announcing Victoria's presence. "You know, this all calls for a celebration. And I think its time Tim meets your friends, Apollo."

"I agree," he said in mock seriousness. "What do you propose?"

A delighted gleam sparked in her electric eyes. "How about a party?"

* * *

Meanwhile...

This wasn't Tony and Ziva's first hunt, but it was certainly the hardest they'd had so far.

After Vance got wind of a flightling in DC from one of his contacts, he enlisted Team Gibbs to put a stop to it. The Major Case Response Team was now moonlighting as Hunters of the Supernatural. Despite the dangers the job brought, they seemed to benefit. Gibbs had two extra agents to help him hunt, minimizing the time spent fighting and perusing the beasts. Ziva was back in the shape she had been during her time with the Mossad, giving her even more energy and agility. Tony had an outlet to vent his guilt and anger at losing Tim. Though the memory of their fallen comrade weighed heavily on all of them, it could be argued that DiNozzo felt the worst, having been the closest to McGee at the time of his death.

Ziva stared down at the dead flightling, her head cocked to the side to see it better. They had caught the bastard in the act, just about to kill a young woman. Luckily the girl was unharmed save a few scrapes and a major emotional shock.

It took approximately twenty minutes of fighting to bring the monster down, and Tony and Gibbs both had good sized scratches on their arms, while Ziva had a lovely black eye. But they had succeeded.

"Is that not the most grotesque face you've ever seen?" she asked. It was clear that the man had been hunting humans for decades; god knows how many years he had extended his unnatural life by doing so. His eyes were not any vibrant or beautiful shade but a bizarre light blue that was almost white, and they glowed up until his dying breath. His teeth were in fact sharper, as well as his fingernails (which were perpetually rimmed with the blood of former victims, never properly washed off). His wings were stretched out, but they were a horrid black color instead of the lighter shade they should have been. Instead of soft, downy feathers or even sturdy structural feathers, these quills were brittle. One light squeeze and they would crack into a thousand pieces like ceramics or weak plastic.

The worst part was the man's face. It wasn't completely abnormal, yet it was twisted in such an inhuman sneer that it made it impossible to look at him for long. Even in death his face retained an air of pure evil and ill wishes.

"Yeah," DiNozzo agreed, rubbing his cuts. "Let's go, Vance already sent someone out to pick it up."

They left it behind carelessly and walked back to where Gibbs was just getting off the phone with the director. "Good work," he said to them. "Go home, get some rest."

"Gibbs," Ziva said, and he stopped to look at her. "We believe we are ready to go back to Valero Notte. To find the flightling that took McGee."

Jethro looked at them in surprise. They hadn't brought it up since that first lesson three months before. But he felt they were ready, and he knew that it would help them sleep at night, the same way Tony wanted to go after Saleem when they heard Ziva was killed.

Also, a nagging doubt had filled his mind since they had begun to describe the specific flightling to him. He had been turning over possibilities in his kind for those months. He couldn't be sure that it was the same Italian flightling he had encountered several years before.

Then again, he didn't believe in coincidences.

Either way, it was a flightling and it had to be stopped.

"Alright," he agreed. "Go home, get some rest, then pack your bags."


	10. Chapter 9

The plane ride to Valero Notte was simple enough. Getting a hotel room was simple enough. Deciding how they were going to go after a monster with no leads...not so much.

The only real clue that had was the man's appearance. He didn't leave anything behind when he made off with McGee, and he didn't run in any discernible direction when Tony and Ziva confronted him- he flew up and away, out of sight.

Based on his agents' vague description of the creature, Gibbs felt that he knew exactly who it was. At first, he wanted to keep this to himself, but the last time he did that, it cost Tim his life. No, Jethro had learned his lesson. So, they had only been back in Valero Notte for a few hours when he held a meeting in his hotel room, ready to put the pieces together.

"What did he look like?" Jethro began without pretense. He had already asked them this before, but the more information they had, the better. "The flightling who took Tim. Details."

"Most likely 6'0," Ziva began. "Medium skin tones, brown hair with some blond."

"His eyes were unique, even for a flightling," Tony added. "They were...light brown, but that doesn't sound right."

"They were almost caramel."

"Yeah. Sorry to sound poetic, but you know that color of whiskey when light shines through it? Like that."

Impressed, Ziva raised her eyebrows. "Exactly like that. He hissed at us too."

"He was like a classic looking guy, but completely modern too," Tony said. "Like if Sean Connery and Pierce Brosnan-"

"DiNozzo."

"Right, sorry. He was wearing dark clothes, but I wasn't exactly paying attention to them."

"What about his wings?"

"They were an off white," Ziva said. "Which is odd. We've only seen white wings in photos. All the flightlings we've hunted had gray or black wings."

Tony pulled out the notebook Gibbs had given them. "I was just looking through a page about that...it says that wing color is naturally some shade of white or light brown based on personality. But the more souls they take, the darker their wings become."

"So was this man a new flightling? Or does he not take souls?" Ziva asked.

Gibbs got up and looked for one of the many files of active and wanted flightlings he brought with him. Digging and old, worn file out of the stack, Gibbs tossed it to Ziva. The very first thing she saw was a picture of the flightling in question.

"This is him!" she said in surprise and turned to their team leader. "Who is he?"

"Apollo Clark. The Clarks were one of the oldest flightling families, but he's all that's left."

"So we know who it is," Tony said. "That saves us a lot of work."

"But wait. Why does his file have a large red x on it?" Ziva asked.

Gibbs looked at her for a moment. "He's supposed to be dead. I killed him three years ago."

"What? Then why did we see him the last time we were here?" Tony asked in exasperation. "Guess he's not dead, then."

"Ya think, DiNozzo?"

"What do you know about him?" Ziva intervened.

"He's a good fighter. And he was friends with some of the most dangerous flightlings in the world. Fornell tried to corner him, to find out where some of them were, but he turned on them. Killed one of Fornell's guys, so Fornell and I went after him."

"God," Tony commented after seeing some of the reports on Apollo. "How many agents has this guy killed?"

"Two," Ziva said bitterly.

"Well, let's stop him before he kills anyone else."

"Ziver, call Fornell and Vance."

As she moved to her laptop to set up a video call, Gibbs and Tony continued to look through the file.

"He's the only member of the Clark family?" DiNozzo asked skeptically.

"Biologically. But he sort of adopted an girl from New York." Jethro pulled another photo from the file. "Victoria Clark."

The picture had been taken quickly, most likely by someone surveilling her at the time. Tony looked at her large blue eyes. "Wow."

"She went missing after we took out Apollo. If he's alive, she's probably wherever he is."

"What do we know about her?"

"Nothing. Just her name."

"Gibbs," Ziva called from her seat at the desk. "The director is ready to talk."

The three agents leaned in towards the laptop to see Vance's face. Tobias was in the background.

"Any luck?" Leon asked.

"We identified the flightling."

"And?"

"And it's Apollo Clark."

"What?" Tobias exclaimed, approaching the camera so that he could see and hear better. "He's supposed to be dead."

"Guess not."

"No kidding, Jethro. Is Victoria with him?"

"We don't know," Tony admitted.

"Could you find out of Apollo lives in Valero Notte?"

"Well, he had a house before he disappeared," the director informed. "I'll ask around, see what I can find, and we'll call you in an hour."

The hour passed faster than expected, and Vance did in fact have answers.

"One of the agents in Berlin right now knows about Clark. He says that he and Victoria are in Valero Notte, in the old mansion."

Fornell popped onto the screen with news of his own. "You all really take the cake, you know that? You must have the best luck."

"Why is that?" Ziva questioned.

"Because according to one of my guys, Apollo and Victoria are having a party tonight. At their house. There will probably be 50 or so flightlings there."

"Better get some formal wear," Vance said. "It'll be upscale."

Ziva and Gibbs turned away from the laptop to get ready for the party, but Tony lingered for a moment.

"Uh, Fornell. About that luck thing...were you being sarcastic or were you serious?"

Tim had never seen the house so bright or full of life, and the guests hadn't even arrived yet.

According to Victoria, Apollo was known for the occasional party.

"He somehow has a knack for throwing together the most upscale events within a day or two," she said. "But it's not the usual boring fancy party. There's actual dancing. And his friends are the best. There are some real characters."

Tim could agree on his surrogate father's ability to throw together a party. Catering had already arrived, and the band was setting up. Victoria sold herself short on her own planning abilities : she arranged multiple vases of gorgeous fresh flowers, all grown and cut from her garden. And she had quickly and effortlessly cleaned the house and opened the windows, shedding much needed light into the house, which otherwise was as still as a mausoleum in its age.

McGee finished getting dressed, and with a quick check in the mirror exited his room. The guests were supposed to be arriving any minute, and he could hear Apollo speaking with the band in the ball room before he even entered. The oldest Clark turned to him in relief.

"Oh Tim. Can you tell Victoria to come see me as soon as she's ready? I need to speak to the both of you."

"Sure," he said and turned back towards the hall. Victoria's door was open halfway, and he knocked before entering.

"You can come in, Tim."

She was seated in front of a mirror, finishing her makeup. Her long blue dress made her eyes stand out even more, and she was wise enough to hardly apply any eyeshadow or liner. (Any more accentuation of their bizarre color would have made her look downright freakish.)

"You look great," he told her.

"Thank you. So do you."

"Apollo said he wanted to talk to us."

"Ok. Just a minute, I'm almost done."

As she finished up, McGee looked around her room. It was the first time that he'd ever seen it, but it didn't surprise him in any way. It was tasteful yet simple, but it had many affects that every other young adult would have. A poster of some band he didn't recognize hung on the far wall.

On the dressing table there stood a small marble statuette. A female figure with wings outstretched behind her stood proudly.

"I recognize this," he murmured.

"The statue of Nike," Victoria said, looking down at it fondly. "It's my favorite Greek sculpture. The real one's much bigger than this, of course. This one is a replica."

"Her head and her arms are missing."

"Lost to time, like many of the classic works. They're wherever Venus de Milo's arms are, I suppose," she smiled.

"Nike...hung out with Athena in Greek mythology."

"Right. Athena was the goddess of war, Nike was the goddess of victory. Apollo says it can't be a coincidence that my name is Victoria. He gave that to me when he took me in for good."

Straightening, she smoothed her dress and turned to the door. "Let's go see what he needs before everyone gets here."

Apollo was standing right were Tim left him.

"I was afraid to mention it," he began as he pulled them aside, out of earshot of the band. "But there may be hunters tonight. One or two always tries to slip in. Be on guard."

"What do we do if they show up?" McGee asked, afraid of the idea,

"Don't engage them unless attacked," Apollo warned. "And do not speak to them. We will try to avoid a battle if we can."

Suddenly the bell rang, and he went to open it. Several guests entered, all moving to hug, kiss or shake hands with the owner of the household. The band began playing, and within the hour over 150 people were in the ballroom and the library. Some were dancing, some talking in groups. But as far as Tim could see, no hunters had shown up.

"Don't worry," Victoria advised.

He looked down at her. "Care for a dance?"

"Absolutely."

As they spun around with the other couples, she smiled in approval.

"You're a pretty great dancer, Tim. Where did you learn?"

He earnestly racked his brain for a moment, but as always, turned up nothing.

"No idea," he grinned.

When the dance was over, she led him to a circle of people their age, all clearly flightlings.

"Come meet my friends, Tim. You know, that girl over there in the red dress has a thing for green eyes..."

Without needing an invitation, crashing Apollo Clark's party was a piece of cake.

Tony and Ziva joined a large group of guests as they entered, quickly gaining access to the main room and marveling at its size.

Gibbs entered a few minutes later, intending to do as his kids had done, and just melt into the crowd. However, the motion of the large group of newcomers forced him into a sort of receiving line, where Apollo was greeting all of his friends. Eventually he came to the front of the line, and stood face to face with his old enemy, who went pale at the sight of him.

Apollo regarded Gibbs warily. "Jethro," he said, allowing his grimace to melt into a -somewhat- friendlier smile. He didn't know why the man who hated him above all else had decided to show up to this party, but he wasn't worried.

"Clark," Gibbs greeted curtly. "We need to talk."

"I'm free as soon as the party is over," the flightling said icily. "If you've come to attack me in my own home, then you'll have to wait until the guests leave."

Gibbs was about to retort when a large man came up behind Apollo and thumped him on the back.

"Clark, that son of yours is an intelligent guy, isn't he? Next time you come visit us in Kenya, bring him along."

Fear struck Apollo as he nodded politely and smiled, yet his eyes flicked back to Gibbs, who was still standing in front of him. He had hoped to keep Tim a secret from the hunters.

Without a word, he moved on to the people behind Gibbs, who had not heard their conversation. Angry but satisfied with the response he got, Jethro went to find Tony and Ziva. It was now three against three, he thought. Much more dangerous than before.

Tony's eyes swept over the room, locking on a dazzling young woman. Victoria! It was Victoria, Apollo Clark's surrogate daughter. Even if she wasn't on many lists, Tony -a novice hunter compared to Gibbs or Fornell- could pick her out of a crowd. Her eyes practically glowed, and her open-backed dress did very little to hide the beginnings of two mirrored scars, one on each side of her spine. Where her wings would be.

If she wasn't a monster, he'd find her attractive.

She was laughing and smiling at a tall man faced away from DiNozzo. The pair gracefully waltzed along with the other couples, and when the song was ended, she tugged on his hand, pulling him towards a small cluster of guests.

Tony locked eyes with Ziva and nodded in their direction. "Victoria Clark."

Ziva nodded. "She seems very...she does not look like a cold-blooded killer."

"It's weird," the senior agent said, leaning against the bannister of the stairs and turning his eyes to the ceiling. "Because you're right, she doesn't, but now we know what she's capable of-"

He stopped suddenly, paling. Ziva put her hand on his shoulder, trying herself to ward off the same memory he was struggling against.

"We'll do this for Tim," Ziva said quietly, and Tony straightened up, nodding. His jaw clenched as he turned away from the flightling and looked for Gibbs.

They could see their team leader from their place at the stairs to the library. Jethro was on the other side of the room, clearly furious as he spoke to the host of the party. Perhaps it was the years of working with their fearless leader, but Tony and Ziva could feel him simmering from across the expansive ballroom.

Apollo stepped away from Gibbs and walked away, far too stiff to be natural. The Senior Agent's eyes found his two team members, who were making their way down the stairs, through the crowd, to him.

"Boss...was that-" DiNozzo began.

"Yeah, that's him," Gibbs said angrily. "He's not alone, either."

"We saw his daughter already, Gibbs,' Ziva informed him. "She was dancing. They should not be a problem for the three of us, yes?"

"No, Z," the older man sighed. "Some of these guests are, too."

The two newer hunters fell silent, dreading the job before them. "Do we take care of them all?" Tony whispered.

"Don't have the time. We just take out Clark and his 'family'."

They didn't miss the implications of the word. "Isn't it just the woman?" Ziva asked.

"No," Gibbs said. "He has a son now, too. A young, powerful, unpredictable flightling."

...

Apollo's self confidence was replaced by frustration and regret. If he had known that this party would attract these particular hunters, he wouldn't have agreed to it. Nothing could make him intentionally put his family and friends in danger.

He was torn. On one hand, the hunters could be persuaded to leave with a small amount of threats and a discreet amount of force. But they might refuse, and instead begin shooting all of the guests...

Perhaps they could be dealt with- he trusted that Tim was now experienced enough with his abilities to help dispatch the evil hunters. Apollo hated violence, but after several years' worth of hiding from Leroy Jethro Gibbs, he was ready to fight.

Victoria and Timothy were not hard to find, and he quietly pulled them aside.

"The party is wonderful, Apollo. We should-"

"I am sorry Victoria, but we have a problem."

With that, the smiles fell off their faces. Tim seemed confused, while Victoria seemed to already know what came next.

"A small team of hunters has arrived at the party. Americans, like us. One of them I know. Their team leader has a special...aptitude for hunting our kind."

Victoria looked stricken. "What do we do?"

"Hopefully nothing," Apollo shrugged. "I thought they might go away, for the time being at least, as they are greatly outnumbered. Now I'm not so sure."

The elder Clark looked so worried that Tim was filled with a slight protective anger. "What do we do?"

"Calm down, Tim," Victoria said quietly, putting her hand on his arm to settle him. "Violence isn't going to solve much at this point."

"She may be right," Apollo said, looking at his surrogate son. "If it were any other team, I would be able to chase them off myself. But I cannot fight this particular set on my own."

"We can help," Tim said. Victoria nodded in agreement, but their elder shook his head firmly. "No. Timothy, they don't know who you are yet. The less they know about you the better, and they don't know your face. We need to keep it that way. And Victoria, I don't know if they know anything-"

"I'm sure they do, Apollo," the young woman said. "This isn't the first time hunters have attacked us, remember? They've seen my face before. It's too late for me. I can hold my own...sort of."

"Where are they, anyway?" Tim asked, scanning the room quickly.

"Over there. Three of them," Apollo said, discreetly nodding his head in their direction, but they all faced away from Tim and he could not see their faces. "Two men, one woman."

Apollo turned to the two and sighed. "Tim, go to the roof and wait there. If we need help, we will yell for you. Victoria, come with me."

With a deliberate look at Gibbs, Apollo strode out the room towards the back door into the alley. Tim was already climbing up to the roof, out of sight of his former team. They didn't seen him yet, and he didn't see them. They did, however, see Apollo and Victoria leave, and knew exactly what needed to be done. His agents did as well.

"We're ready, Gibbs," Ziva said, and Tony nodded.

"Let's go."


	11. Chapter 10

This whole situation was clearly one big misunderstanding, and it's surprising. None of the five individuals involved had a blood lust or aggressive tendencies. In fact, they all tried to avoid violence in every situation. Somehow, though, a fight quickly broke out in the back alley between the Clarks and Team Gibbs, with almost no words spoken to start off with.

Apollo's wings came out, and he engaged Gibbs in a sort of dance; diving and lunging, an occasional hit, then more circling, diving, and lunging. While he was occupied with Gibbs, Ziva tried to take the flightling by surprise, and Apollo ended up fighting both agents at once.

Victoria, in an attempt to draw one or two of the agents away from her father figure, turned and ran into the darkness.

Tony watched as Victoria ran down the alleyway. Knowing that Ziva was busy helping Gibbs, he made the decision to chase the young woman alone.

As many new hunters are, he was too cocky to think that Victoria would be easy to handle.

Without waiting to let Ziva or Gibbs know where he was going, Tony dashed after Victoria, passing under the stone arch and moving farther into the alley. He splashed through a puddle and turned the corner, leading to a dead end. A high wall blocked his path, though Victoria was nowhere to be seen.

DiNozzo looked around, then glanced up. Though the night was clear and the moon shone bright, the shadows were heavy.

A dark form breezed past Tony, its force throwing him against the wall of this courtyard. A nauseating pop resounded in his ear as his shoulder dislocated; he bit back a cry of pain, and his gun flew out of his hand.

A light thud echoed against the walls as Victoria landed in a crouch. She had hitched up her dress slightly, but was unable to protect her hair, which was beginning to frizz up in the humidity. As she rose, her wings unfolded and stretched out to their full span.

It was the most breathtaking and horrifying thing Tony had ever seen. If he hadn't spent three months in training to fight this creature, he'd have sworn he was dying and that an angel was coming to collect him. He wouldn't dare move from his slumped position against the wall.

She didn't say a word, but instead picked up his gun. After testing it in her hands, Victoria realized she wouldn't be able to break it by herself. DiNozzo believed she was going to shoot him, but she had no intention of hurting him further.

The flightling raised the gun, and slammed it against the wall. It made a slight crunch, weakening. She yanked the magazine out of the gun and poured the bullets onto the ground. With one arm, Victoria tossed it over the wall, out of reach.

She turned to the man in front of her and regarded him sadly.

She almost told him he was lucky that he had picked her to hunt, and not some more vicious, unforgiving person...But from the look of horror and disgust in his eyes, she doubted he'd believe her.

Victoria gave Tony one last glance, before sighing and turning away. She extended her wings up and out, ready to take off. As she did, Tony used all the strength in his good arm to inch up the wall and into a standing position.

With one strong flap, Victoria was in the air, but not for long. Ignoring the pain shooting through his arm and shoulder, he used all of his strength to pull her back down. She fell and hit the ground with a gasp, the wind knocked out of her. Though she was stronger than Tony, she was smaller and lighter. It was easy to pull her up and roughly shove the gasping young woman up against the wall. In the span of maybe two seconds, DiNozzo had pinned the girl against the alley, grabbed hold of one of her wayward wings, and held it against the stones. Taking a large serrated knife out of his belt, the agent stabbed downwards as hard as he could, tearing through the wing and embedding itself several inches into the stucco wall.

Agony shot through Victoria's wing and up and down her spine. Tears springing to her eyes, the flightling choked out a weak but desperate scream.

...

Tim's head snapped up as he heard his surrogate sister scream. From his position on the roof he had easy access to any alley bordering the building. He had tried his hardest to ignore the sounds of shuffles, the rustling of wings, and the thuds that accompanied punches- trying his hardest to follow Apollo's orders. But he knew that Victoria was the one who screamed, and it frightened him to hear so much pain contained in one sound. He had to help her.

Following the noise, he came to the edge of the roof, and peeked down into a sort of courtyard- three walls and an outlet into the rest of the narrow alleyway. Up against the wall was Victoria, pinned by a knife, her face twisted up in anguish. A male hunter faced her, his back to Tim, ready to stab her.

McGee used his wings to smoothly glide down into the court, grabbing Tony around the waist and pinning his arms to his sides. This further upset the hunter's shoulder, causing him to hiss in pain. Tim shoved his captive into the corner, where he wisely stayed down.

With a deep breath, McGee came back to his senses. Approaching Victoria, he put his hand on her shoulder and gently shushed her gasps. "It's ok, you're alright. Look at me, Victoria."

Red rimmed sapphire eyes found his emerald ones, and the young woman whispered. "Please, Tim. Get it out. It hurts so much. Please."

"Ok," Timothy said again, trying to keep her calm. "Don't watch."

If she saw the knife and the blood, she might panic. Tony displayed great skill in this strategy, placing the weapon in a spot that made it impossible to move without worsening the injury. If she reached around to remove it herself, Victoria might have torn her wings further. Struggling against it would have the same disastrous results.

Victoria obediently shut her eyes and turned her head away as Tim carefully gripped the hilt of the blade.

"Ready?"

She bit her lip and nodded.

With one tug, McGee was able to remove the knife from the wall and the wing. Free at last, Victoria swayed. Tim held her up, and she looked up at him.

"Thank you," she said, hugging her brother. Tim returned the hug, then let go as she stepped back. "Can you make it?"

"I can't fly at the moment," she said. "But I can walk."

With that, the two flightlings turned to the corner, where Tony was pressing himself into the shadows, watching the exchange.

DiNozzo looked at his situation carefully. There was no way he could scale the wall on a good day, much less with a dislocated shoulder. He had his flame gun, but his two opponents would tear his head off before he ignited it. They were blocking his path to the alley. It was over.

Tony sighed, his heart aching. This hunt was the reason he trained, all in preparation to avenge his best friend, and he couldn't handle it. He was going to be killed the same way his partner was killed- by monsters. He had failed; he couldn't protect himself. Sorry Tim, DiNozzo thought sullenly. I tried.

Speaking aloud for the first time, he said to the flightlings, "kill me quickly, you bastards."

Tim looked at Victoria, who shook her head. No, neither of them had any intention of taking a life tonight. "Come out of the shadows," Tim ordered, knife ready just in case this was a trick.

After a beat, Tony did as he was told, leaving the shadow to stand in a small patch of moonlight, finally facing McGee.

Tim's wings stretched up in surprise. How did this man look so familiar...?

Suddenly, he knew. Everything came at him in full force, hitting him like a wall of ice cold freezing water. He remembered everything.

Images flashed through his mind. Of his father, his mother. Of Sarah, of his life as a navy kid. Getting his high school diploma. MIT. His first girlfriend. His old car. His dog. Everything came at him, and soon his most important memories surfaced. He was Timothy McGee. He lived in Silver Springs, Maryland. He had a life in America. A job. He was an NCIS agent. He solved crimes. His team -his family- consisted of Ducky, of Jimmy, of Abby, of Ziva, Tony, and Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

All of this came at him at once, as if all the synapses in his brain had fired at the same time. Indeed, he might have been seizing for all he knew. He could feel himself shaking, his wings quivering. Tim went pale and his breathing labored. All this in the span of five seconds.

"You alright?" Victoria asked him, inching closer. DiNozzo just blinked at them, not knowing what was about to happen.

Tim silently nodded, turning to the man in front of him.

"Tony," he said quietly, smiling slightly from sheer happiness. "It's me."

DiNozzo blinked once again in confusion. "Who-" he began, but as he looked into the emerald eyes of the younger man in front of him, he knew exactly who it was.

"Tim?" he gasped, eyes widening. McGee nodded, smiling. Victoria watched them in confusion.

"McGee? You're alive?" Tony affirmed, and once again Tim nodded, stepping forward to hug his friend. But as he reached out, DiNozzo shied away. "You're one of them?" he asked.

"Well, yeah, but...wait," Tim frowned. "You're a hunter? Why? Since when?"

"Since you died," Tony said. "You died, Tim. We saw you. You stopped breathing. That thing-" he snapped, gesturing to Victoria. "And her friend got to you before we could."

"That thing," Tim said forcefully, "saved my life. They're my family."

Victoria's eyes sparkled with delight to hear Tim call her and Apollo his family, but she let them continue in silence.

"She almost tried to kill me!" DiNozzo said. "McGee, she dislocated my shoulder."

"In self defense!" Tim said before Victoria could intervene. "Why were you hunting her in the first place?"

"Because she's dangerous! She's a freak-"

Tim wasn't sure if he was more hurt or angry. Tony saw his mistake and tried to back peddle. "I mean-"

"She is a freak," McGee said. "But so am I." His wings stretched out to full span for emphasis. His eyes darkened in warning. "But we didn't come to your house to kill you."

"Oh right," DiNozzo shot back forcefully. "You just invited a bunch of soul-suckers into your house. No big deal-"

"Enough!" Tim said, his wings flapping in anger. His command echoed of the walls of the alley. Tony recoiled slightly. "What have they done to you, Tim?" he asked.

"Given me a second chance," Tim answered. "They saved my life."

"Saved it? You aren't Tim McGee anymore. You're a monster."

It was McGee's turn to recoil. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Victoria grimace and wince. 'Monster' isn't a word one uses lightly.

Tim picked up Victoria, as she was unable to fly. "Maybe I am," he said, and with a few powerful flaps, they were on the roof, leaving DiNozzo alone. He stood that way for five minutes, in silence, when Gibbs and Ziva finally found him.

"Did she hurt you?" Ziva asked, inspecting Tony's shoulder.

"I'll live."

"Did you get a look at the son?" Gibbs asked after making sure his own kid was alright.

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And," Tony said dully, looking at his boss. "You're not gonna believe who it is."


	12. Chapter 11

Despite his worry for his family, Tim's head hurt and he was reeling. When they reached the roof, they saw that Apollo was waiting for them. He was altogether unscathed, save a small cut above his right eyebrow, which would be easily fixed.

McGee felt guilty, but he hadn't the strength to try and explain what had happened to Apollo. Victoria squeezed his arm gently and nodded at him, silently letting him know that she would be fine, that the party was taken care of, that she would explain everything to their patriarch.

He would have to make it up to her later.

As soon as she was safely with Apollo on the roof landing, McGee was off, flying without a destination in mind.

In fact, not much was on his mind except for the memories that bombarded him. His entire memory was quickly being recovered, thoughts and moments flashing through his head. Tim didn't even have time to think about his recent altercation with DiNozzo, as his mind could not focus on any one thing. The information came in waves, causing a dull throb in the back of his head. It hurt like hell.

Tim flew out over the water, covering a great distance. He didn't have a watch on him, but he was sure that he had been gone for at least an hour and a half by the time he turned back, and then it took that much time to return to shore.

Finally, the memories subsided, and he could think clearly. So Tony, Gibbs and Ziva all became hunters after he disappeared- they thought he was dead. But that wasn't right, Apollo said he knew Gibbs from years before. So Gibbs had been a hunter for a long time- go figure. It was Gibbs, after all. He had to be fighting bad guys at all times.

Including flightlings, he realized. They think all flightlings are the bad guys. That's why Tony called me a monster.

His chest began to ache. His second family thought he was some evil creature, and God knew their opinions weren't going to change easily. In fact, how did he know they were the good guys anymore...?

Tim shook his head. He couldn't afford to think like that, at least not without some sort of evidence that proved it to be true.

_They think I'm evil_.

Was he? No, definitely not. He hadn't hurt a single human. In fact, he probably did more damage as an NCIS agent than he ever did as a flightling.

NCIS...he suddenly missed his old job. How could he ever go back? The answer was simple: he couldn't.

He would miss everyone in the Navy Yard. Palmer, Ducky, Abby...Abby! Tim's heart fluttered a little bit thinking about the girl he used to be in love with, all those years ago. The poor forensic tech probably thought he was dead. In fact, she probably didn't know a thing about flightlings at all.

Did she?

McGee doubted it. If Abby knew about flightlings, there was no way she wouldn't become a hunter, or at least an expert on them. She would have been with the team tonight, if not to hunt, then to defend the integrity of the flightlings. The same way she defended Jethro the dog when Tim shot him in self defense. With her taste for the occult, it wasn't even a question of whether or not she would be interested in the beings. Tim chuckled wryly. Abby would love his new physique.

However, Gibbs probably wanted to keep her safe, and kept her ignorant about the winged creatures, the same way he kept the rest of the team ignorant. Looking down at his hands, McGee didn't blame his former Boss. Flightlings were in fact dangerous when they wanted to be. They were best left alone.

It made Tim curious as to whether or not his family- his biological family- knew about the flightling genetics. Probably not. In fact, he doubted that anyone besides Sarah or Penny would care that he was gone. And they both had lives to lead. For some reason, it didn't bother him too much. He was happy with his adopted family- they had given him just as much (if not more) in just a few months than his biological family had in his entire life. Penny may have been the exception to that, but what was the use in over thinking it now? They thought he was dead, they were moving on, most likely, and he didn't think it wise to disrupt their lives with this whole new world of darkness and power. For their sakes, it was better to stay dead.

He reached land and began flying towards nothing and everything- he swooped through alleys and past windows, enjoying the breeze on his wings. McGee tried to clear his mind of everyone else, and watched the people on the streets return to their homes for the night.

His home! _Damn it all,_ he thought. _They've probably sold my apartment and all my belongings are god-knows-where_. It bothered him at first, but then he realized that anything he had, he clearly didn't need, since he'd lived without the stuff for several months now.

The young man was heading back toward the direction of the Clark residence, but he wasn't ready to talk about the situation with Victoria or Apollo.

To reach the roof, he had to pass over the cathedral. This was the first time he had flown directly above the church, and he saw a delightful little courtyard on the far side. It was the perfect place to rest for a minute, to gather his strength before he dealt with everything.

Diving down, Tim went to land in the yard, more unsure of his life than he'd ever been before.

...

On a night like this, it would be easy to believe that he was in the throes of a drug induced hallucination.

Gibbs and Ziva had to literally shake Tony to make him talk, and even then his voice came out a forced, harsh sound. He could only choke out a couple words at a time before the lump in his throat rose to cut him off.

He explained what had happened to his team, who at first seemed to not believe him.

"It was Tim" he insisted, to which Ziva gave a mildly alarmed look, though he could tell she was concerned for his mental well-being, not for McGee. "I'm fine, Z. I'm telling the truth. I saw him. He talked to me!"

Gibbs' shoulders were tense as he looked over his agent. "Did he try to hurt you?"

"Not really."

"Not really?"

"He just pulled me off of Victoria," DiNozzo admitted. "They both got away... Where's the other one?"

"Apollo flew off," Ziva said.

"We're fine," Gibbs said. "What happened to your shoulder?"

"The girl knocked me into the wall," Tony said sheepishly. "I think its dislocated."

Inspecting the arm, Ziva nodded. "We should go," she said. "You need to go to the hospital."

In spite of his insistence that he was fine, his teammates dragged him to the nearest emergency room, where a few nurses popped his shoulder back in place and gave him some painkillers. In an absent minded haze, DiNozzo let Ziva guide him into a car and then up to their hotel room, where he laid down.

The medication they gave him was mild, but strong enough to make him doze in and out of consciousness. He heard Ziva and Gibbs speak every once in a while, but his eyes remained shut until he felt a light shaking on his leg.

"Tony."

It was Ziva, right? For all he knew, it was his mom telling him to get ready for school...

"Tony, wake up, we need you to tell Ducky what happened."

"Hm?" he groaned, opening his eyes to find his partner staring down at him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Sore."

"I'm sorry, but we need you to describe to Ducky what happened."

He sat up slowly, the effect of the drugs almost completely gone. Glancing at the clock revealed that they had only been back three hours; it felt like twelve to him.

Gibbs was at the desk on the other side of the hotel room, in the middle of a video conference with Doctor Mallard.

"Hey Ducky," DiNozzo said wearily, coming up behind his Boss.

"Anthony, how are you feeling?"

"About as bad as I look," he said in a feeble attempt at humor.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Now, what happened tonight? Jethro said something about Timothy..."

"He's alive, Ducky. He's here in the city. And he's a flightling."

Ducky looked as incredulous as Ziva and Gibbs had, and Tony had to recite the night's chain of events once more.

"What do you think, Duck?" Gibbs asked when his agent finished. Ducky became thoughtful and silent before saying "wait one moment" and moving off camera. They could hear him shuffling around his house, and finally the ME was back, bringing with him an ancient looking book.

"This was written by Darwin," he said, holding it up. "It describes the history and evolution of the flightling species. I recall reading about how one becomes a flightling..." he began to flip through the pages.

"I thought you had to be born a flightling," Ziva said, coming to stand next to Tony. "We never learned anything about being turned into one."

"That's because you can't be turned into one...it should be in this chapter...aha, here it is," Ducky said, holding the pages up to the camera for a moment. "According to this, all flightlings are born with the genes that make up the species, but actual characteristics don't appear unless one is touched by another flightling."

"So if you're born with the right genetics, then all it takes is contact with another flightling to give you wings and strength and everything else?"

"Exactly."

"So Tim was born with the genes of a flightling..." Tony mused. "The real question is, how did he manage to go his entire life without even bumping into a flightling before?"

"Timothy grew up on Naval Bases," Ducky reminded him. "It seems unlikely that there are many winged creatures on a heavily armed military complex, among adults well versed on fighting and defending themselves."

"Why didn't he come back to us?" Ziva asked in realization. "He recognized Tony, he knew who we were, yes? So why did he not return to America?"

"Maybe it was too dangerous? Or maybe he liked being around flightlings like him. It's only been a few months. He probably was going to come back to the States when he was ready," Tony said, though he felt somewhat hurt as well.

"That I don't know. But I'll make some calls, and perhaps I can find more on Apollo Clark. And you said that Timothy had a woman with him?"

"Her name's Victoria," Gibbs said.

"A mate?"

Tony gulped. He didn't think that Tim and Victoria were...well, he had held her pretty tenderly in the alleyway...

"She's Apollo's surrogate daughter, sort of like Tim's his son. But we don't know if..." DiNozzo trailed off.

"Ah. I see. I will research her as well."

"Thanks, Duck."

The video chat ended, and Gibbs turned back to his agents. "It's late, get some rest."

DiNozzo had no idea how he would sleep with these thoughts running through his head. He reached for the bottle of painkillers Ziva had purchased, and found that they were non-drowsy. He couldn't medicate himself to sleep, then.

His good arm itched, and looking down, he realized he was still covered in Victoria's blood. Fabulous.

"I'll be in the shower," he muttered, and closed the bathroom door behind him.

The room was little, and when Tony turned the hot water on, steam quickly filled the space. Keeping his injured arm close to his body, he undressed and stepped in, letting his thoughts roam back to the problem at hand.

He had believed that a person had to be born a flightling, complete with wings, and that they couldn't be changed. But obviously, their information had been incorrect. What else did they have wrong...? Clearly they had been wrong about Tim...

The circumstances of McGee's physical humanity (or lack thereof) didn't really matter to Tony at that moment. He had different questions, ones that concerned Tim's mental humanity...Did McGee kill people? Was Tim really himself- or was he something else?

Had he been changed and warped so far...in living with the Clarks...that he had changed as a person?

Most human beings, no matter how kind or strong of will, can be fundamentally changed for the worse under the right circumstances. With cases at NCIS they had seen soldiers whose time in battle had turned them into angry, violent killing machines, even without the presence of PTSD. Fear, pain and desperation can all destroy a man, though his heart continues beating. And in that moment, DiNozzo realized that this is what he feared most of all: that his best friend, the man who once wrote condolence letters to the families of victims, had become a monster.

**...An irretrievable, evil, dangerous bastard. Fundamentally twisted. A broken shell of the lion-hearted man he used to be...**

DiNozzo grimaced, blinking against the water as it splashed in his face. He shouldn't have called McGee a monster- whether or not it was true, (which he hadn't decided yet.) If he wasn't, then Tony had just royally insulted his friend. If Tim was a killer, then provoking him would have been a bad idea.

_Me and my big mouth..._

Suddenly the doorknob turned with a creak. The NCIS agent could feel some of the steam leaving the little room, but was more focused on the quiet voice of Ziva.

"Are you alright, Tony?"

He decided to ignore the question and instead chuckled dully. "You're expanding your horizons. Usually you only follow me into the bathroom at NCIS-"

"Tony, you cannot avoid this problem."

Though she couldn't see him, Ziva knew that his eyes were downcast, probably closed, and that he wasn't prepared to answer her. She put the lid over the toilet seat and perched on it, staring at the wall to wait for a response.

"Is he still Tim?"

"I cannot tell you that," she said sadly. The whole situation upset her as much as it did DiNozzo, she was just better at holding it all inside.

"I called him a monster. In the alley."

"Were you asking to be killed?" she said incredulously. "If he was in the mood to take a life, you would not have lasted a minute."

"I know that, Ziva."

She was silent again, but finally said, "Remember that Gibbs told us that not every flightling takes souls."

"But most do. We already know his friend Apollo has killed a person before."

"...His wings were white, yes?"

"It takes years of stealing souls for the wings to go black, and you know it."

Ziva stood up, resisting the urge to rip open the shower curtain and smack Tony upside the head, Gibbs-style.

"You are clinging to the conviction that he is definitely a flightling that takes souls. Maybe statistics suggest that he is, but when have any of our lives ever followed the average outline?"

Tony sighed, knowing she had a point. "What are you suggesting, Z?"

"We find out what Tim has become. If he is the old McGee, just with wings, then you apologize until your gums bleed, and maybe he will come back to us."

"Where did you pick up that idiom?"

"-and if our friend is gone, if he has become a murderer, then we take care of the creature that took his place."

The senior agent sighed, hoping for the former. She was holding firmly onto the idea that McGee was still... McGee. DiNozzo didn't have that sort of optimism. "Thanks, Ziva," he said. He heard the door close as she exited, giving him privacy to dry off and get dressed.

Tony decided not to overthink the situation too much. Ziva had a way of clearing his head like that. The only thing to worry about for the time being was Tim's criminal record of sorts. And DiNozzo wanted to apologize to his old friend.

But he wasn't ready to see the Probie face to face.

Throwing on a tshirt and some jeans, he stalked out the door, telling Ziva he was going for a walk. Tony took a small gun, just for his own protection.

"Tell Gibbs I'll be back soon," he said as the door closed behind him.

"Wait," she called after him. When he turned to her, she had a sling in her hand. "You are supposed to wear this."

"Is there any chance you'll let me leave without putting it on?"

"No."

Sighing, he let her put his arm in the bandage and left the hotel.

He kept to the open streets, which were still fairly occupied in the late hour. The adrenaline from the earlier fight was all gone, letting him think clearly. He wasn't exactly sorry that he had injured Victoria, but he was filled to the brim with remorse for his words to McGee.

It struck him for the first time that night that Tim was alive. No matter what his disposition might have been, he wasn't dead, his heart still beat. He hadn't suffered a gruesome, gory death. Thank God for that, at least.

A wave of doubt hit him again. He didn't like this conflict: should he feel sorry for insulting McGee? Or should he be preparing to hunt down a murderer?

The worst part of this was that DiNozzo had no way of knowing the answer. Finding the flightling in order to see if he was friendly or not was a bad idea. It would be just as effective (and dangerous) as entering a tiger cage to see whether or not the tigers were hungry.

Tony walked around with no direction or destination in mind, though he made a point to avoid any and all alleyways. Eventually, he came to an old church that was beautiful and imposing. Light emanated from the stained glass windows? For no reason in particular, DiNozzo decided to look inside. He opened the door and entered, not noticing that he was right next door to the Clark residence.


	13. Chapter 12

Tim alighted on a ledge overlooking the courtyard, assuming that no one would be there so late at night. The skittish priest lived in a little parsonage down the street. (Years before, he lived in a small back room of the cathedral itself, but it had been converted to use for storage, and he was forced to move out.)

McGee gently touched down, careful not to disturb anything. Well, he didn't burst into flames. Victoria was wrong about that, at least. Though he wasn't actually inside the church. Maybe that made a difference...

Relaxing, he put his full weight on the ledge and admired the prayer garden below him. Victoria would love it. He would have to take her there sometime-

With a horrid groan, the wood beneath his feet collapsed, unused to any sort of weight being placed on it. Tim didn't have time to angle his wings so that he might glide gently down or fly away. No, instead he fell ten feet, landing amongst the splintered wood with a crash. At least with his strength he was unhurt, though his pride was bruised quite a bit.

...

Tony's head snapped up, and he stood from his spot in the back pew. He had heard the sound of something breaking and hitting the floor. A male voice groaned quietly.

DiNozzo stood and rushed to the side door to help whoever had groaned.

Tim heard someone coming, and quickly righted himself, scaling the nearest column and leaping into the rafters. The courtyard was connected to a sort of hallway, though each side of the hall was lined with open arches, and not solid stone. Cross-beam rafters overlooked the courtyard and the promenade, and this is where McGee hid in the darkness, wings drooped just out of sight above whoever would enter.

DiNozzo pushed open the heavy door to the walkway with his good arm, and stuck his head into the open space. He didn't see anything, and at first Tim couldn't see Tony either. But once the agent's face turned into the moonlight, Tim sucked in a breath. His wings twitched involuntarily, and the larger feathers brushed against the rafters, making a scratching sound.

Tony looked up just in time to see a shadow shoot from his end of the hall to the far end, towards the courtyard. Though he could not see the figure, he knew it was a flightling. His hand twitched to his gun and his knees bent ever so slightly. He was in the perfect defensive stance, considering his arm was in a sling.

He had only meant to protect himself, but whoever was up in the rafters didn't like the reflex, and hissed. It wasn't at all a reptilian sound, in fact it was nothing DiNozzo had ever heard. That wasn't true- he'd heard it in his flightling hunts.

He took a risk in doing this- with all of the flightlings that had attended the party that night, this could be anyone. But Tony dropped his hands to his side and straightened. His heart pounding, he called out into the darkness. "Tim?"

McGee really wasn't in the mood to talk to DiNozzo. But when Tony called his name, his shoulders drooped. He didn't say anything, hoping the NCIS agent would go away. He didn't.

"I know you're here, McGee," Tony called, mostly to fill the silence. It was unnerving.

A flutter of wings and suddenly McGee was on the beam in front of him. Tim had become so agile he could balance in a crouch on the rafter. He stared down at Tony, who stared right back, captivated by his former coworker's eyes. The wings were perked up, in the shadows out of sight. In fact, most of Tim was hidden in shadow.

"Hey Tim," DiNozzo said quietly, not breaking his gaze.

"Tony," Tim nodded. He certainly was different- he held himself with a much more regal air. He fit in with the ancient architecture of the church quite well.

"You look..."

"Like a freak?" Tim was gone again, high up where he couldn't be seen. His voice rang farther away, and Tony had to walk down the hall to make sure he didn't lose the flightling.

"No. I was going to say you look different."

A small exasperated sigh escaped the young man; it was the same kind of sigh he used to emit when DiNozzo decided to bother him at the office.

"I'm sorry I called you a monster," he said, following the rustling of wings as Tim moved even further into the depths of the cathedral.

"Well, you weren't completely off. I think you used the word dangerous...?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry-"

"No, you were right about that. I am dangerous," he said casually.

"Tim, you don't have to-"

"Oh I'm not offended," McGee said matter-of-factly. "I'm dangerous. Plain and simple."

An ear-splitting screech was heard, one that made Tony's head hurt down to the teeth. A large piece of rock hit the floor a few feet in front of Tony. McGee had torn it from the wall and dropped it, to show his old friend the reality of the situation.

Tony pinched his lips together warily. McGee was clearly in a bad mood.

"So, what? Are you saying I should be afraid of you? Why should I, besides the fact that you're strong?"

The door slammed shut behind him, and he realized that Tim had run into the main area of the chapel. He quickly made his way to the door and yanked it open. The muggy outside air hit the cool inside air, creating a breeze.

Candles and modern lamps cast their light everywhere, though much of the cathedral was still swallowed in the dim.

DiNozzo ran down the middle aisle; his shoes hitting the floor made the only sound in the building. He stopped in the middle of the church, the hair standing on the back of his neck. Once again, the moonlight crisscrossed over the pews, leaving a frightening pattern on the marble floor.

Cocking his head to the side, DiNozzo listened intently for any sign of McGee.

He was met with silence.

The hair on the back of his neck pricked up, and he knew he was being watched.

A bang echoed through the hall, and Tony jumped, jostling his arm. He could barely feel it, however, as he was too busy worrying about the figure several feet above him.

Most large churches have a clerestory, the highest row of windows on the wall. This building's clerestory had a ledge, used when janitors needed to clean or replace the stained glass. Tim was standing on that ledge, looking down on DiNozzo, his wings spread to their full span. Each wing was longer than three windows across, and Tim's arms were slightly apart from his sides, his hands balled into fists.

McGee had started at NCIS with a decent amount of baby-fat, which he lost gradually through the years, leaving behind a wiry figure. From all of his flying, Tim had become more muscular- the muscles were subtle, Tim was still long and thin, after all- but they made a difference.

He had started the night in a full tuxedo, though he had removed his jacket and vest before their fight in the alleyway. His shoes, impractical and heavy in flight, had been removed, leaving just his trousers and shirt (whose sleeves had been rolled up to the elbows). Standing in front of the huge stained glass portrait of Mary and the Angels, which was illuminated by a spotlight, colors shone softly through Tim's wings, which made his emerald green eyes stand out.

In every sense of the word, Tim did look like an angel. He was beautiful, inhuman...and frightening.

DiNozzo's heart rate jump started as he stared at Tim, waiting for an attack, some sort of movement, anything. But McGee just stood there.

It took a couple tries for Tony to find his voice, but he was able to choke out, "Haunting churches now, are we?"

"It seems appropriate."

Tim was gone again, and Tony dove into the cover of the shadows. Though he didn't think McGee would hurt him, he didn't exactly feel safe.

"When did you begin hunting?" Tim asked suddenly.

"Uh...ri...right after you went missing," DiNozzo said.

"Why do you hunt?"

"We don't hunt all of...your kind...just the ones that hunt down humans. We realize that not all of you actually steal souls. What I said before in the alley...that was just a mistake, Tim."

"Why did you come after Apollo and Victoria, then?"

"We thought Apollo had killed you."

"Why?"

"McGee, the last time we saw you, he was standing over you, blood all over you and his hands. Then he made off with you before we could stop him."

"He didn't cause the blood."

"Well I realize that now."

"Tony, I don't really remember too much about that night...what were we doing out in the alley in the first place?"

Tim's voice became earnest, but Tony didn't leave his hiding place against the wall.

"Tracking down whoever murdered our marine...it was a mugging gone wrong, we decided."

Suddenly it clicked into place for Tim, who was perched on another section of the clerestory. "Oh! It all makes sense. When I woke up, Apollo and Victoria told me I had been shot. They patched me up. They thought you or Ziva shot me, you thought Apollo killed me. In realty, some mugger shot me."

The tension left DiNozzo's shoulders. "Wait...so all this...All. Of. This...was a big misunderstanding?"

"It would appear so."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

The quiet darkness was not as frightening, though still tense.

"One question," DiNozzo began. "Why didn't you come back to us, after you had gained your health back?"

"I didn't remember anything but my name," Tim admitted. "I had no way of knowing my past or what kind of life I lived."

"It was a good one," Tony said.

"Was it, though?"

"Yes!" DiNozzo insisted. "You had a job, you had us!"

"I know that. And I'm grateful. But I feel like I belong here."

"You belong with humans, don't you?"

"No," Tim practically growled. "I told you, Tony. I may not be some evil creature that you have to put a stop to, but I like living with flightlings. My life here...I'm so much better off. I've got people who understand me, and I'm so much more...confident. Healthy. Strong. I can feel, sometimes...I...I'm different, Tony. I'm still me, but there's something else I've got to deal with."

The senior agent nodded, though he knew Tim couldn't see him. He could tell that McGee wasn't some killing machine, but he was different in many ways. That was ok, but...

It was clear from his movements, his behavior, what he talked about...Tim was still Tim. But he wasn't a human. He was a volatile flightling with a distrust for himself. He had something within him, clearly some sort of darkness that he had to control. Until then, yes, he was dangerous. Purely good, but with some baggage to work out.

"So where does that leave us? Ziva and Gibbs and me?"

It was silent for a long time, as Tim thought up a decent response. He finally answered with. "I don't know."

It was an ambiguous answer, one that made DiNozzo nervous. Suddenly, he could feel his cell phone buzz in his pocket. "Gibbs is calling. I'm assuming you don't want him to come here looking for me?"

"No, that's probably a bad idea," Tim chuckled in spite of himself. "You should go."

"We'll probably be in town for a week or two," Tony said, hoping McGee would come around before they left.

"As long as you don't murder any innocent flightlings. But by all means, get rid of the bad ones. According to Apollo, they're dangerous to us as well."

"Ok."

It was quiet again, though this time it was more awkward than anything else.

"See ya, Tim."

"Bye, Tony."

DiNozzo left his spot in the shadows and quickly reached the door. Once outside, he hailed a cab to his hotel.

Tim closed his eyes and leaned against the clerestory. The longer he talked to Tiny, the more agitated and angry he felt. For some reason, it subsided as soon as DiNozzo left. He would talk to Apollo about it later.

He realized absently that he had never seen a truly evil flightling- not that he knew of. Never had he seen a flightling with black wings. That would change quite soon.


	14. Chapter 13

Despite the interruption from Team Gibbs and the sizable gash in Victoria's wing, the party went off without a hitch. Nobody had really noticed that Apollo was gone, and when he returned he was only asked where Victoria and Timothy were.

It was easy enough to say that they were running an errand, and a once Victoria returned, fresh and clean, it was easy enough to say that Tim wasn't feeling well and had to lie down.

All of their friends took an immediate liking to McGee, and everyone enjoyed the party. When they were gone and the house was empty again, Apollo stood in the middle of the ballroom, under the dome and the large circular skylight, and sighed.

"That was a great party," Victoria assured him.

"It wasn't what I was expecting, that's for sure."

"So a couple of hunters showed up-"

"One almost killed you, Victoria!" he said, turning to her. She was leaning against one of the columns, and it was clear that she was exhausted.

"No, he didn't. And besides. Think of it this way...Now Tim knows who he is! Even if his life is a mess, it can be sorted out now."

Apollo looked around the room. "Where is he, anyway?"

"Out. Flying. Getting his thoughts in order."

"That's understandable. The amount of memory he is most likely regaining now will be staggering..." he looked at her. "You're changing the subject."

"No I'm not, you're the one who brought up Tim's memories."

The older man came up to her and kissed her cheek in a very fatherly way. "You two are my family. I can't afford to lose you."

Just then, they heard a door in the kitchen slam as Tim reentered the house. He stalked into the ballroom.

"What-" Apollo began to ask, but when he saw his son's expression, he put his hands up in a gesture of peace. "It's ok, go wash up and get some rest, we'll talk about it another time."

McGee nodded and silently turned to his room. The two flightlings listened as his door closed.

"And tomorrow we'll clean the house," Victoria said, looking around at the place. It wasn't a wreck, but the obvious after effects of a party were scattered around.

"Yes," Apollo said, and looked up at the skylight over their heads. "We should close this," he said. "In case those three come back."

He flipped a switch in the wall, and the window shut with a snap, locking the world out of their little haven.

...

It took three days for Tim to leave his room for something other than food or drink. His little family knew to leave him alone to his thoughts in this time, and instead cleaned, worked, and lived their lives in their normal routine.

When McGee finally did leave his room, he found Apollo in the library, at his desk.

Tim stared up at the loft, watching the older man's fascinating eyes as they flicked over some document in front of him. He didn't notice Tim at first, not until the young man cleared his throat.

"Oh! Sorry, Tim. It's good to see you out and about. How are you?"

"My memory returned," Tim said, both answering and avoiding the question.

Apollo nodded. "Victoria told me that you knew the hunters from the party."

"Yeah..."

Apollo put the papers back on the desk and stood, walking to the railing and leaning over to look at Tim.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

He nodded. "Is Victoria home?"

"She's in the kitchen. Why don't you go get her and bring her here?"

When Tim returned with Victoria in tow, they saw that Apollo had quickly started a fire in the large fireplace. It was summer; the fire was more to create a feeling of home or security than to provide warmth.

Apollo sat in one of the large chairs, as did Victoria. Tim preferred to stand- he was too nervous otherwise.

"It's a long story," he admitted, and launched into the tale of his life, with emphasis on his time at NCIS.

"I worked for Leroy Jethro Gibbs," he said, nodding sheepishly at Apollo. "And the two younger agents were Ziva David and Tony DiNozzo. I've spent almost a decade on the team."

They were quiet, intending to let him continue, but Tim mistook their silence for anger.

"I understand if you don't want me to stay here anymore."

"Why would we cast you out?" Apollo said in surprise.

"Because I worked with your enemy...I thought you hated him!"

"That's no reason for me to hate you, and I'm sure there's more to the story. Continue."

"...I don't think I would be able to convince you that they're good people," he said. "But they are." He then went on to explain the whole misunderstanding, how Tony and Ziva thought that Apollo had killed Tim, how Apollo thought that they were trying to kill Tim...

"They came here looking for revenge?" Victoria clarified, and Tim nodded.

"They hunt only evil flightlings. At least, that's what they told me."

"Do you trust them?" Apollo asked, staring into the fire.

"I don't know," Tim said in regret, shutting his eyes. "I don't know what happened while I was gone. They're not lying, but...I don't know..."

He sighed, opening his eyes and continuing with the story. "So it's my fault that they came here. That's why I thought you two might not want me around anymore."

"Timothy," Apollo admonished, standing up. "They came here after me, thinking I killed you. No matter what, this isn't your fault. I'm not entirely free of blame...hunters try to come after us every so often. I didn't warn you or prepare you for that eventuality. That's my fault, not yours."

"But why?"

Victoria looked at Apollo and nodded encouragingly. He took a deep breath and spoke. "Maybe you should sit. I believe its my turn to explain."

Tim obeyed, and listened closely.

"If I remember correctly, we told you the body slows its aging once one becomes a flightling." Tim nodded. "How old would you say that I am?"

"Uh...40?" Tim asked, and his father figure chuckled. "41?...42?"

"I became a flightling when I was thirty nine," Apollo said. "That was twenty seven years ago."

"Really?" Tim exclaimed. Victoria smiled, having heard this story before.

"Really. I don't age much. And you won't, either. Fifty years from now you'll both most likely look the same way you do now. Anyway, I became a flightling when visiting this house with my mother and my sister. I told you I spent most summers here."

"Yes."

"...I hadn't seen my father much in my life. He had a job with an American diplomat, and he was almost always gone. It was sad, sometimes, but it wasn't exactly a hard life. We lived very well..." He looked around his home. "When he was home, he didn't touch us. Ever. No contact was allowed with Father. That was the rule."

McGee frowned. Even his dad had patted him on the head when he was very young. "Why not?"

"Because my mother didn't want us to know about flightlings," he explained. "And my father was one. My mother carried the gene- she came from a long line of flightlings, but for some reason, had never changed. And she didn't want me- or my sister- to either."

Tim looked up at the painting of two children playing in a field of flowers. Apollo's mother had painted it.

"My mother was a kind woman. And she loved my father very much. She just didn't want our lives to be...well, let's just say that the existence of flightlings has only improved since then."

"Was your father ok with it?" Tim asked.

"Not turning us? It was his idea," Apollo explained. "It seems sad, but there were many other ways for him to show affection. He gave us gifts, spent time with us. He was actually a good man. But this is beside the point..."

Apollo's face darkened. "I hadn't seen him for a while when he met us here. He was agitated, and told us that there were people on their way. My sister and I were both adults, we both lived alone, and we hadn't seen either of our parents in a while. But he insisted that we all leave. And then, to protect us, he put a hand on both our heads."

"He turned you?"

"Yes, he wanted us to be able to protect ourselves. There were 'aquaintances' of his coming over. Coming for him."

"Why?"

"Being a diplomat got him some dangerous friends. And especially back then, flightlings came from long lines of power and wealth. Every time you made a friend, you made an enemy as well. I'm not sure why, but my father had upset some flightlings, and they were after him."

Victoria looked down, and Tim could tell that the next part of the story was going to be unpleasant. "What happened, Apollo?"

"...They did come. A small group of men...two or three...with a score to settle. That part was never actually explained to me; I will never know why they came, but they did.

My father took my mother away, to protect her; they escaped through a secret tunnel in the house- don't ask me, I don't know where it is... The idea was that we would follow as soon as we had locked up the house and sent away the servants. For their own safety, you know. When the house was empty, we got ready to leave, to get as far away as possible. We had no idea what was going on- we had both been changed into some creatures we didn't know existed. We were woozy, tired, overwhelmed. And we didn't move fast enough."

McGee leaned forward in his chair, enthralled.

"My sister's name was Maria. She was my twin...but I'm getting off topic. We heard banging at the front door. And suddenly it was forced open. You've seen those doors, its obvious that no human would be able to force open the lock with their bare hands. These weren't humans we were dealing with. They were flightlings. A group of them, actually, headed by Thaddeus D'Amico.

"Thad and several of his brothers stormed into the house, obviously ready for a fight that we couldn't put up. We just stared at them as they ran in. And then Thad spotted us..."

"Tell them about the D'Amicos first," Victoria advised.

"Alright. The D'Amico family is...was...based in Venice. Their home was there. They were a pure bred family- every single one of them was born a flightling, and they only married other flightlings...mated is the appropriate word, they didn't care much for human convention...the oldest man in the family was just over my age when we met them...that was Thaddeus."

"You knew them?"

"No, I had never met them before. I learned this all later. And I'll never know what my father did to antagonize them, I was always too afraid to ask."

"And obviously they didn't kill you."

"No, when they saw that we weren't my parents, and that we truly didn't know where our parents were...Thaddeus decided it would be a waste to kill us, especially Maria. My sister was very beautiful, and Thad had a weakness for beautiful women.

"So, he let us go. Actually, he put on a bravado of kindness and generosity, and invited us to stay in his home. It seems foolish that we accepted his invitation now, but you have to remember that we were exhausted, confused...I could barely see, everything hurt, and these men had wings. We had never seen those before...we didn't know at the time that we had them too."

Tim smiled wanly, understanding. He had felt the same things when he woke up for the first time as a flightling, in a strange place with people he didn't know.

"I could tell from the start that Thad wasn't to be trusted. He had the aura of one who had spent too much time in the shadows. His eyes darted all around- he clearly had many secrets...My sister was infatuated with him. He was awful, but she didn't believe me when I tried to warn her. Nevertheless, we spent all of our time together.

"My sister and Thad fell in love. Or, at least, he made her believe that he loved her. Anyway, she and I were close, and he was now part of her life, and so I spent even more time with him."

"What happened?"

"I became very interested in the way they lived. They were powerful, strong. They accomplished a lot. And they all were happy...and they knew how flightlings were supposed to act. Elizabeth and I knew nothing about how to...be flightlings. And they showed us. I quickly came to adore the life as much as my sister did. I began to consider Thad a friend, a comrade. We had exciting adventures and he showed us a way of life that was totally different than what we knew."

He trailed off, and Victoria stood and walked over to him, putting a hand on his arm. With her support, he continued.

"We were allowed to stay at Thaddeus' home indefinitely, which was in Venice. Eventually, he and Maria married, and I moved back here.

When they returned from their honeymoon, Maria seemed distant. She was removed...and when I first went to embrace her, she seemed tense and solid as stone."

His voice cracked a bit at the end, and he squeezed Victoria's arm, so she continued for him.

"Thad denied having done anything to her while they were gone. The next time Apollo saw Maria's wings, he knew something was wrong. They were a sickly gray color. Different from the white they used to be."

"She took a soul?" Tim asked quietly.

"Yes. And she liked it. A month after their marriage, she came to Apollo and told him that there were a few things they didn't know about flightlings. That they could live forever. That they could be even more powerful than she had believed- by stealing souls."

"She didn't present it that way," Apollo said, returning to the story. "Not at first. She just told me that we could be even stronger- we could be the exact same way that Thaddeus was...my sister felt that there difference between us and the D'Amico family... She said that difference had gone as soon as she'd consumed the energy of a human."

Shadows were beginning to creep around the windows of the library; night was falling. The fire created streaks of light and shadow that danced along Apollo's features.

"I didn't know what this meant, but Maria said she felt like she had been ill her whole life and was finally well, even though we both knew she had been a healthy person since birth. Then, to demonstrate, she bent a nearby fire poker in half."

"That doesn't seem too bad," McGee said. "I could do that now, and I've never taken a soul."

Apollo looked down. "It was steel."

Chills ran down Tim's spine. Steel, the one metal that for some reason they could not affect...was apparently powerless against a twisted flightling.

"The souls make you stronger?" he gulped.

"Stronger, healthier, faster...you can hear better, see even better than we can now...you are made immortal. You see, you an I will eventually die of age, even if our bodies don't appear to be old. But with the continuing power that souls bring, you will never age at all. You could live centuries if you wanted to."

"Consider souls the unicorn blood of our species," Victoria said, to which Tim smiled.

"Unicorn blood? Unicorns don't exist..." Apollo said in confusion.

"Harry Potter," Victoria giggled. "Anyway, continue with your story."

"Where was I...? Oh yes. Maria said that Thad had shown her a new way of living while on their honeymoon. And they wanted me to try it."

"Did you?" Tim asked, afraid of the answer.

"No, I didn't. You see, they wanted to officially initiate me into their circle. Make me a D'Amico, of sorts. To make it official, they wanted to have a little ceremony.

Back in Renaissance times, wealthy families had their own private chapels. The D'Amicos still had a chapel on their property by the time Maria and I met them...and that was only a couple decades ago.

They told me to come to their chapel, in Venice. When I arrived, they had lots of friends in the pews. And Maria and Thaddeus were waiting for me at the alter. A human was tied to it."

Victoria, to compose herself, walked to the window and stared out, her back to them.

"What did you do?" Tim asked.

"Before then, I hadn't known what they meant by taking the energy of a human. But when I got there, when I saw everything, I understood. And I refused."

Apollo took a deep breath. "Thad became angry. He called me weak, which was probably the nicest thing he called me that night. When I refused to...do it, he threatened to kill me. A fight broke out, and Maria tried to intervene for me."

Tim knew where this was going before Apollo was finished.

"She ended up dead. But Thaddeus hardly blinked an eye. He came after me, but I escaped. And I never saw him again. I tried to find my parents, and eventually succeeded. My father had died, god knows how, but my mother was alive, and she and I spent the rest of her life in this house. After she died, I moved to America, but eventually came back here. I made the right friends this time, and many years later I met Victoria. You know the rest of the story. "

Tears welled up in their father-figure's eyes, and Victoria hugged him. Tim put his hand on Apollo's shoulder.

"Apollo...all of that...it only proves you're a good person. Why do hunters come after you?"

"Timothy, I may not have killed anyone, but my time with the D'Amicos didn't leave me clean of conscience. I did a lot of terrible things, I'll admit. It was like being part of a motor cycle gang- literally, hell's angels. I personally didn't go as far as murder, but I associated with murderers. And I did everything else that one shouldn't do."

McGee didn't say anything, and Apollo chuckled gently.

"The point is, Timothy, that Leroy Jethro Gibbs isn't the only man with a conflicted past. I still detest the man, but I understand him. I'm not saying that what he does is 100 percent legitimate, but he isn't wrong to try and stop the more evil flightlings. He has made a lot of mistakes in his life, I'm sure, but associating with him won't make you any worse of a person than associating with me will."

"We don't hate you for knowing them, Tim," Victoria said. "We're just worried that they aren't as trustworthy now as you remember them to be. I don't want anything to happen to you."

Tim smiled. "At the very least, I can promise that I won't let anything happen to myself. Ok?"

She smiled back. "If you say so."


	15. Chapter 14

**Hey guys, just wanted to say thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. Keep it up guys, you're all awesome.**

It was a week after the party and Tony still had not gone sightseeing.

You'd think that being laid up with a dislocated shoulder would be a perfect reason to take things easy and just enjoy the sights of the beautiful little city. But when had "taking things easy" ever been a part of their lives?

As DiNozzo had said, they were planning to leave two weeks from the day of the party. Really, now that they knew about Tim, their schedule was freed up- it would have made sense to go home early, but Gibbs never mentioned booking an earlier flight. Tony believed that the boss wanted to hear from Tim as much as they did.

It can take weeks for a dislocated shoulder to really heal. Luckily, DiNozzo's injury was very minimal, and it was mending quickly. He still didn't have much use of it, and he tried to avoid moving the arm as much as possible, but at least he was no longer invalidated to the bed 24/7.

After the party, the three NCIS agents never intended to go on a hunt in Valero Notte... but it happened. And it had to happen, for several reasons.

The report came on the late-night news. It was in Italian- thank heaven for Ziva; even Tony's broken knowledge of the language wasn't fast enough for the news caster. But Ziva understood every word, and the disturbing report made her stop in her tracks and turn toward the TV.

"What is it, Ziver?" Gibbs asked, noticing her troubled expression. She translated for them.

"...this is, unfortunately, the second body found in a week. Valero Notte's murder rates have skyrocketed in the past few months, from zero murders last year to this year's five deaths in the past seven months. Five may not seem like a lot to larger cities like Venice or Rome, but that is a five hundred percent increase from last year's death rates...the body was found in the harbor, with bizarre bullet holes in the chest and a gruesome dent in the man's skull. Police officials are denying the work of a serial killer in Valero Notte, though some are skeptical...unfortunately, we are required to show pictures of the victim, as he was found without an ID...these pictures may be too graphic for some viewers...if you recognize this man, please contact Valero Notte police..."

The anchor was replaced on the screen by a photo of the victim. It was, undoubtedly, the work of a twisted flightling.

"You don't think its-" Ziva began, and Gibbs shook his head.

"No, I don't. I think it was a guest of their party who's stayed for an extended visit to the city."

"Should we...?" Tony asked, as hesitant as Gibbs to go after the creature. They didn't want to antagonize the Clarks, if it was someone they knew...but they also couldn't let a serial killer loose into Valero Notte without doing something about it.

Gibbs thought for a moment. They had dinner reservations in a little restaurant on the main avenue of the town. The street ran right past the harbor.

"Let's eat," he said. "Then swing by the crime scene, see if there's any sign of who did it."

...

Victoria opened the window and stuck her head out.

"Mmm...it's lovely tonight," she said. "Hardly humid, and there's a breeze. Not a raincloud in sight."

Turning away from the window, she came to sit next to Tim at the bar in their living room. The den was completely different from the rest of the house: where most of the Clark residence kept its traditional decor of Gothic, Classical and Renaissance, the living room was completely modern, and simply done. The bar was like something from a cocktail lounge you'd only find in New York City- it was sleek, dark, and had a lot of spotlights and mirrors to reflect them. The television was very modern, and the furniture was all comfortable, yet inexpensive. The light color on the wall made it all the more cheery and bright than the rest of the house.

"Should we take advantage of the weather?" Apollo asked. "A friend of mine has a boat. I'm sure we could persuade him to let us borrow it."

"Uh...actually, I get really sea sick," Tim said. The others stared at him. "What?"

"You were an NCIS agent," Victoria laughed. "And you suffer from chronic seasickness?"

"Yeah yeah, I know," McGee said, laughing in spite of himself. "I've heard it all before."

"Well then, how about a walk instead?" Apollo asked.

The night was indeed beautiful. The breeze whipped Victoria's curls around her head, and caused Tim's cheeks to flush. Nothing could spoil the night. Of course not. Until a screech pierced the air.

"What was that?" Apollo asked, listening for another cry, which came momentarily.

"Its in the alley," Victoria said, following McGee, who was already running into the darkness.

What they saw was, though unsurprising, still very frightening. A tall, dark flightling had a young woman backed into a corner, his black wings blocking her escape.

"Hey!" Tim shouted, diverting the man's attention, but when the monster turned to look at then, McGee took a step back in surprise.

There were no pupils in his eyes. The entirety of both eyeballs were a silvery color, as if he were wearing contacts made of moonlight. However, they were not beautiful- it wasn't the same silvery tone that ran through Tim's wings. No, this silver seemed dirty, polluted. There was something wicked about them, as the man's entire face was almost deformed with an evil air.

"Remember how I told you there were consequences to taking souls?" Victoria whispered.

The dark flightling's wings were an inky black, but they seemed brittle, as if they could snap under the gentlest of touches. The man's skin was taut, and surprisingly clear and healthy. No, the only things different about this flightling were his wings, and his face.

If he hunched over, he would definitely look like a gargoyle.

"Move on," the man hissed, aware from their eyes that the Clarks were flightlings.

"I'm afraid we can't do that," Apollo said, spreading his wings. Tim did the same, and then Victoria.

"She's mine!" The creature growled. "I found her first!"

"No, we don't want her," Victoria said, leaning forward and preparing for a fight. "We want you to leave her alone."

Their new foe coughed out a wheezing laugh. "I don't think so."

"Then we'll have to change your mind," McGee threatened.

Beginning to see that they were serious, the dark nameless man straightened and measured each of them up without a word. Then, with a flick of his wings, he was gone. Apollo and Tim quickly pursued, Victoria taking only a moment longer too see if the young woman was alright (she was fine, just unconscious).

Luckily for the Clark family, they knew their city well. Every cobble stone, every old house, the ivy, the almost-tropic weather, the misty fog, and every sound that whispered throughout the alleys...it was all theirs, each object and moment preciously intimate to their memories.

They took off after the dark figure, swooping and diving out of sight, far above the vision of humans on the ground.

...

They had just stepped out of the restaurant when Ziva froze, halting dead in her tracks. Tony almost ran right in to her, she stopped so quickly.

"What's wrong?"

At first she didn't answer, too busy concentrating on the roof of a building across the street.

"Ziva?"

She still didn't respond.

"Ziva!"

"Look!" she said, pointing at a little deli. Gibbs and DiNozzo watched for a minute, and were rewarded when they saw a black figure leap from the building to the next. No one could have possibly noticed except for Ziva, and she was looking for it.

It was clearly not Tim, Apollo, or Victoria; the monster's black wings reflected in the moonlight.

"Let's go," Gibbs said, intending only to see where it was headed.

They took off after the figure, racing to catch it. Tony started to grind his teeth as his shoulder began to sting.

The flightling vanished from sight on a roof a few blocks over, and Ziva began to scale the fire escape.

"What are you doing?" Tony hissed.

"Making sure it doesn't hurt anyone," she said.

"Do you have a gun?" DiNozzo asked. She stared at him with one eyebrow raised.

"Right."

Gibbs started to climb after her, and Tony followed suit. When Ziva peered over the edge of the building, her eyes widened in shock.

Flashes of white, silver and black darted to and fro. The flightling they had been pursuing was not alone; he was engaged in an impromptu battle with Apollo and Victoria Clark. Chills ran up Ziva's spine when she saw a tall young man with huge white wings springing from his back: Tim. She couldn't see his face, but she saw him fighting a larger man, a second dark-winged flightling.

"What's wrong?" Tony called up.

"They're here," she whispered, and clambered up to join the fight.

"Ziva!" Gibbs and Tony called, gaining the attention of every flightling on the roof.

"Ziva?" Tim said, and turned to see his former teammate pulling a long blade out of her boot. Gibbs' head popped up soon after, followed by Tony. Victoria and Apollo were busy fighting, but they threw the newcomers odd looks whenever possible. With a strong punch, McGee felled the young man in front of him and rushed to see the NCIS agents.

"What are you doing here?!" he exclaimed. Ziva and Gibbs could only stare. This was the first time they'd seen Tim as a flightling; only descriptions from Tony had given them an idea of what he looked like.

Goosebumps ran over Ziva's arms. The huge feathery appendages from Tim's back looked strong and frightening, especially paired with his emerald eyes that shone in the darkness.

"McGee..."

"Yeah, Ziva, it's me," he said, keeping a respectful distance. He looked over his shoulder and gave Gibbs a formal nod.

Neither of them could do much talking, so Tony spoke for them. "Friends of yours?"

"Not at all. We chased the older one here, and the younger one just appeared."

"We followed the younger one here-"

"Tim!"

All of them turned to see the younger flightling pinning Victoria to the ground. McGee sprung into action, and the NCIS agents did the same.

Gibbs and Ziva sprang at the older flightling who was giving Apollo some trouble; McGee pulled the younger flightling off Victoria, and Tony aimed a gun at him. However, as he stumbled back, his dark wings slammed against DiNozzo and made him stumble.

Over the edge of the roof.

"Tony!" Ziva cried as she saw her partner fall over the edge of the building.

McGee saw it happen too and leapt after DiNozzo, landing on his stomach and reaching over the ledge to catch him.

Ziva froze, and there was a moment of quiet before she could hear Tony say, "why do we always end up in this situation, McGee?"

Tim gave a breathless laugh and pulled the agent back onto the roof.

DiNozzo couldn't help but remember the first time McGee had saved him from a gruesome fall; this was the second time he had looked up into the frightened expression, the worried eyes. Maybe the color was a little different, but the eyes were the same. They say the eyes are the portals to the soul- it was the same soul peering down at him. He was still Tim, through and through.

"This can't be good for your shoulder," Tim muttered as Tony sat up next to him and caught his breath.

"I'll survive," he grinned. "Is this where I promise not to give you a hard time ever again?"

"I think you have to say you love me first."

They looked up at Ziva, who was staring at them incredulously. The two men stood, and Tony clapped McGee on the back.

"Thanks, Tim," he smiled.

Tim couldn't help but smile back. This was the first familiar contact he'd had with someone since before he changed (besides Victoria or Apollo). It was like old times, and he felt like himself again.

Tony could see the spark in his friend's eye, and felt a rush of relief. Things were better with Tim, at least. Now, all they had to worry about was Apollo and Gibbs tearing each other apart.

Which reminded him...

"Where's everyone else?" DiNozzo asked.

Ziva pointed to the rooftop over, where Apollo and Gibbs were fighting with the older of the two opponents, Victoria with the younger. The space between the two structures was much smaller than the usual Valero Notte alley, and while Tim was busy saving Tony, Gibbs and the rest of the Clarks had chased the two rogues over to the next roof.

"Tony, help Victoria!" Tim shouted as he sprinted over to assist Apollo and Gibbs, Ziva on his heels. DiNozzo wasn't keen on being anywhere near Victoria, but he realized the same thing that Tim did: with his shoulder still recovering, he was in no condition to fight a truly dangerous and experienced flightling. He would have argued, but he knew that McGee was right. He would just get in the way.

Ziva and Tony ran after Tim, easily jumping the small space and joining the fray. Ziva and McGee's efforts were much needed; even with four adversaries, the older flightling put up quite a fight.

Victoria was in a sort of dance with her opponent similar to the one Tony had seen Gibbs and Apollo do. Darkened wings flicked against white ones in their proximity. At that moment, the evil flightling was facing Victoria, his back to DiNozzo. The young woman saw this and discreetly nodded to Tony, who took out a knife and slashed at their adversary's back.

With a screech, the dark form recoiled, leaping off the roof. His wings extended and he began to pick up speed as he flew. Tony scowled at the development.

"Come on," Victoria said, moving to jump.

"Wait!"

She looked back at him, annoyed. When she remembered that he couldn't fly, she shrugged and picked him up around the waist.

"Ow!"

"Sorry," she said icily as they took off. "But there's not much I can do about it, is there?"

From her voice he could tell she wasn't one to often lose her cool. He was probably the only human being in the entire world who get such a rise out of her. (Not that he blamed her. It's not like the feelings weren't reciprocated.)

This was the first time he had ever flown with a flightling. He had always thought flying would be pleasurable, but with the throbbing his arm was doing and the fact that Victoria was probably all too willing to drop him...

The flightling landed a block away, so she did too. In fact, she landed right on top of him, letting Tony go right before she did so. DiNozzo landed deftly on his feet as she tackled the man, pinning his wings down with her feet and sitting her entire weight on his back. Though it was black as Gibbs' coffee in this alley, Victoria moved like a cat. Squinting in the darkness, Tony remembered that she could see in the dark.

Nevertheless, he helped considerably by pulling out his gun and training it on the young flightling's head.

"Don't you dare move or you'll be sorry," Victoria said.

Normally, she would have been too gentle and innocent looking to deliver a convincing threat. If she didn't have wings, she would have looked about as menacing as Audrey Hepburn holding a kitten. Yes, the wings definitely made a difference, even when they were next to the formidable pitch black feathers.

"Do you have any handcuffs?" Victoria asked. Tony pulled out a pair and handed them to her. She bent her head down and put her lips close to their captive's ear.

"Fold away your wings."

"I can't with you sitting on my back, bitch."

"Hey," Tony said in warning. "Don't try that. Just stand up and do as she says."

Victoria stood and let the man follow her orders. He put away his wings in defeat. With the advantage of DiNozzo's gun, the two had him trapped. Once the wings were gone, Victoria snapped on the handcuffs.

Looking from their prisoner to Tony, Victoria's eyebrows knitted.

"I can't carry you both back to the roof in one trip," she said.

"That's okay, it was sort of uncomfortable anyway," Tony said dryly. "I'll walk."

Victoria stared at him in exasperation for a minute then sighed. "Then I suppose I'm walking with you."

She forced the dark flightling up and made him walk in front of her. With his hands tied behind his back, there was no way he could spread his wings open or outrun them.

"Why?" Tony asked. "I'm fine, you can fly ahead. You don't have to wait for me."

She folded her wings away and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He avoided eye contact with her as much as possible, noting that she left at least five feet of distance between them.

"I can't leave you here to fend for yourself. There might be others out tonight."

"I can take care of myself."

"Not with that shoulder, you can't," she said, noting the way he kept his arm close to his body.

"Why do you care?"

Her eyes softened considerably. "Tim cares about you and your friends very much."

"So?"

"So if something happened to you, Tim would be heartbroken. And I don't want to be responsible for that."

DiNozzo was quiet for a minute.

"Thank you."

She nodded, still looking forward.

His arm started to act up again, and he pulled a small bottle of pills from his pocket as they turned a corner. He shook a couple into his hand and dry swallowed them before he noticed Victoria watching him.

"Does it hurt?"

"A little. It's more inconvenient than anything else," he admitted.

She looked like she wanted to say something, but she closed her mouth and hardened the look in her eyes. "I'm sure you'll be back to hunting innocent people soon enough," she said.

"You think we're murderers."

"I know you are. Why else would you come to our home and try to kill us?"

"Fair enough. But in our defense, we thought you were the murderers."

She scoffed at this and fell silent again, but Tony continued. "We've never hunted any flightlings that don't take souls."

"How could you be sure?"

"Well, we usually catch them in the act," he said. "They're usually actively trying to take souls when we catch them."

"Usually?"

"I can promise you that we never killed a single flightling that didn't have dark wings," Tony said. "And we don't really seek them out and provoke them, we hear reports or dangerous activity, and we stop them."

Victoria didn't answer, though she secretly felt a little better.

"We're not bloodthirsty murderers," he insisted. "We only stopped the evil flightlings from taking human lives."

"I suppose I can appreciate that," Victoria said. "That's your regular job too, right? Fighting bad guys?"

"Yeah, we're NCIS agents."

"Tim told me. From what I understand, he really loved that job."

Tony nodded, and they fell into the tense silence again.

"I'm sorry about your shoulder," she said finally.

"I'm sorry about your wing."

"I heal a lot faster than you do. It didn't even leave a scar."

He looked at her back. "Where do the wings go? When you 'put them away'...what happens to them? They're completely gone."

"They fold into my back. It doesn't really make sense, since there is no extra bones in my back that show up on an x ray. They sort of appear and disappear."

"Does it hurt?"

"Folding them in at out? The first time it does. After that you cannot feel it."

They arrived back at the building they took off from, and Victoria turned to look him in the eyes for the first time all night. "I'm not sure that you are trustworthy...but Tim believes you are, and that will have to be good enough for me. But if you or your teammates try to hurt my family, you will have to pay for it."

DiNozzo nodded in understanding. "I was going to say the same thing about you."

She took hold of the nameless young man, who had remained silent this whole time.

"I'll be right back," she said to Tony, then winged herself and their captive to the roof. In moments she returned, and this time she lifted DiNozzo with a bit more care. It wasn't exactly gentle, but it wasn't the rough gasp she had given him before.

When they were all back on the roof, Tony say that Tim was holding onto the young man, with Ziva aiming her gun at him. Apollo and Gibbs were doing the same thing with the older man.

"What do we do with these two?" McGee asked.

"We can't exactly let them free," Apollo said. "They'll go right back to hunting down humans."

"We could-" Ziva began, but was cut off when, with a bizarre yelp of desperation, the older of the two twisted beings wrenched himself out of Apollo's grasp and lunged for Gibbs. However, the oldest Clark was faster than that. He grabbed the villain before he could tear apart the NCIS agent's throat, and pinned him to the ground. But though Apollo had enormous strength, his foe did too, and they were locked in a struggle on the ground. Before anyone could come to his aid, he had thrown off the leader of the Clark family and jumped at him. However, a carefully placed bullet from Gibbs intercepted his path and knocked him to the ground, dead.

Apollo stood and looked at the deceased flightling with wide eyes. Gibbs started to defend his shot, when Apollo cut him off.

"No, no, it had to be done. I was about to thank you, actually."

McGee smiled in delight upon hearing these words.

"It seems that even though we don't really trust one another, we have similar goals. You try to stop the more wicked of our kind, and we try to defend humans from them."

Gibbs nodded, uncharacteristically waiting for him to get to the point.

"I suppose there's no need for us to continue ripping out each other's throats. I propose a truce."

Gibbs looked at Tony and Ziva, then looked at McGee. The time for talking with his former agent about past events would come. At that moment, he took Apollo's hand and shook it. "Truce."

Apollo's whiskey-colored eyes flashed. "Excellent."

Tony came and clapped Tim on the back again. Tim smiled at Apollo and at Victoria, who both kept their distance from the hunters. They may be allies, but they weren't necessarily all friends yet.

McGee looked at Ziva, who smiled at him warmly, but did not make a move to touch him. "Its so wonderful to have you back, McGee. We missed you."

"Thanks, Z," he smiled. She returned the smile, but still did not come too close to him. Tim, though disappointed, had been expecting this to happen. She was much more superstitious, and believed in all kinds of creatures. Tim remembered her quiet apprehension when they thought there was a monster on the Chimera navy ship. She wasn't necessarily frightened, just more aware of the amount of power the supernatural could wield. Ziva would come around, he was sure.

Tim turned to Gibbs next, sticking out his hand to shake. "Hey Boss...Gibbs."

"Hey McGee," Jethro said, awkwardly shaking his former employee's hand. He, much like Ziva, had a bit of apprehension about flightlings too. Nothing in him was scared, that's for sure, just slightly distrustful. Over a decade of dealing solely with evil flightlings couldn't be undone in a single night, and once again McGee realized that. It wasn't much, but it was a start.


End file.
